Pilgrimage 70 - Banshu Kiyomizu-dera 播州 清水寺

Pilgrimage 70 -Banshu Kiyomizu-dera
Leisurely
dawn spreads across
the morning sky,
and wakes as birds sing
fluttering fresh green branches.

So long I've been here. But let me explain. Banshu is not your ordinary temple. This afternoon I feel as though I've spnt moths here.

Listening
my mind wanders across clouds
there your face
lingers above me and i pray
Kannon, oh, your mercy.

Today my wife and I walk around the area, both of us taking my little jaunts here and thre. I wander down along the ancient pilgrimage path, with her way up above me (in terms of mountain elevation) taking pictures.

It is so important for us to be together, as my mind strays back through the centuries.

Above
the stretch of hillside
you stand,
capturing beauty
among echoes of history.

This temple was first founded on the order of the Empress Suiko (r. 592-628 AD) in 627 by Houdou Sennin, a priest from India, who worshipped an eleven-headed Kannon there, with Bishamon-ten and Kissho-ten in attendance. I think of him, of how he may have found this place, far up a mountain side, along a valley that lies one "lane" behind that facing the inland sea, and Osaka Bay. According to the guide books, views of the inland sea are here on clear days, but the trees have grown so much I doubt even then it would be possible to see the Inland Sea.

The Indian Priest, whose name means Hermit of the Way of the Law, prayed found a pure spring far up a hill side and built his temple not far from it. Thus the name "Kiyomizu" - "Pure Water." The name of Sakanue no Tamuramaro, a famous general whose name is associated with the founding of the other Kiyomizu-dera on the Saikoku pilgrimage (temple number 16), has also long been associated with this temple.


Your sweet water
clings to me as mists rise
welcoming dawn
you turn and lift your leg against mine
snuggle, then fall asleep again.


In 725 AD, the Emperor Shomu (r. 724-749) ordered a very famous priest named Gyoki to build a lecture/sutra/training hall there, and Gyoki had a thousand-armed thousand-eyed Kannon installed as the main object of worship, attended by Bishamon-ten and Jizo Bosatsu. So today if you visit the temple, you will find two temples dedicated to Kannon. The first one you come to, the Koudo, or "Lecture Hall," is today the main place of worship. Destroyed again and again throughtout its over 1000-year history, this hall today holds a relativly new statue of Kannon Bosatsu that is usually open to the public.

My wife and I sit down in front of it, there are 6 - 8 people around us. "Namo Kazeon-bosatsu," I repeat (I take refuge in Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara) . The words have no effect. It is not enough. There is more here. I must find it.

My wife gets up and goes out to to take pictures.

I sit, mind wandering through the place. I feel drawn to the other "main" temple, up a series of steps and across a short space. I go, enter, bow, pray, and can sit on the straw matting (tatami), then go further down into the inner sanctum. There are steps down to the earthen floor, in the old Tendai fashion.

Breathing in
your dawn spreads across my sky
smiling
the birds greet the mists rising
into a new summer day.

As though re-entering the womb, I stand still. It is an almost eternal stillness. My knees weaken and I sink against the wall and slide down to the floor. There is no need to hurry. The great Womb Mandala of esoteric Buddhism is on one side of me, but a tiny metal statue of bodhisattva is on the other. Although it is in a glass case, I smile and merely sit. There is a wonderful warmth here, and I have no desire to leave. The voice in my mind repeats the mantra, over and over. A peace spreads through me, but at the same time a sense of the horrors of this place. I let those feelings, and images, fill me, and pass on. What repains is the spirituality of place.

I feel I've been born once again. My mind goes back to Ishiyama-dera, and to what happened there.

Praying
that you may finally find peace
o errant warrior
who strayed beyond the pale,
I pray you repent of your sin.

A dragonfly
lifts off the lily petal
and heads towards
the sun as clouds come closer
it returns, and loooks at me.

Coming out of the "womb" as though again reborn, I walk around the temple grounds. The remains of a pagoda, destroyed by a terrible typhoon. Now just a few rocks mark the foundation.

A few steps down a forrested path there is a well. Amazing how these wells appear high up hillsides or mountainsides. I peer into its depths, and offer a prayer tha those who come here to worship may find what they are looking for.

This is a protected area--undoubtedly the spring was what drew the Indian priest here. I wonder if he was from Northern or Southern India, and the ragas of those regions fill me as I pray.

But there is a strange feeling here I feel I must track down. I'm not sure what it is, and so return to the "main temple." As usual there are several people there, some of them praying very devoutly to the pretty new wooden statue. A beautiful Kannon, with a peaceful smile tha fills me at the same time I begin to get visions of horror.

You prayed
body weak now against the storm
week agiainst anything
so long without food, or love--
lonely soldier.

A face fills me. Becomes me. Running for my life, with a few retainers. I know those long valleys, the way messages are passed so fast by the enemy. Ah. The pain fills me.

Here. This is the end.

I feel myself sitting down, pulling out my robe to expose the skin.
Taking out my sword
I look at the way the light shines off it
think of my wife and children
pray to Kannon for Mercy
then thrust quickly deeply
with all my might
into my gut
stab, pause, and then move to the right.
The blade is sharp enough to shave by.

The pain is intense, but that intensity only serves to encourage me.

(There is indeed an historical marker to the samurai and his retainers who committed "ritual sucide" here centuries ago.)

Oh Lord
your swift movements
astonish me--
lotus flower blooming
as the sun climbs into view.

I have been here so long. How many months? Winter has changed to spring. The cold winds have hit me, too, have blurred and numbed my senses till I have been unable to move at all.

So important is to feel this place, to let it fill me,
I see even now the slit gut the poured out intestines,
mirrored
by the young man in Iraq
(I will not say if he is in the US army or a young Iraqi the same age as my son
I will not value one over the other,
I will merely sit and watch
meditate
as the tears fall down from my eyes
along my cheeks.

Breathing in, breathing out
to retain composure,

I realize it is time to go.

The path along the right side of the temple (as you look out towards the Inland Sea) goes down the steps and reaches a broad fork. It is the right side that leads on to the next temple.

It is the fourth of July. As an American I remember the four of my father's ancestors who fought in the Revolutonary War for the 13 Colonies, and the 1 who sided with te British. I remember another of his ancestors who fought for the North during the Civil War, and the cousin who fought for the south at the same time. I pray for their souls, as my mind travels the many, many steps that lie before me.

A slight wind
saunters across the field
as though to greet me,
then spreads across the river
and up into the foothills.

So long still
your voice remains before me
as I start out
there is no time i do not hear you,
yet my ego still blocks your voice.


I find my wife, and we head home together.
The next temple is further down the valley.