Every year at 3:00am on the 3rd of May, the sounds of conch trumpets, chanting, crackling flames and rattling shakujō split the air on the 1,700 meter summit of Sanjō-ga-take (Mt. Ōmine). Dozens of practitioners climb the mountain at night to participate in the "Door-Opening" (戸開け, to-ake) of the temple on the mountain top, an event which marks the opening of the season for mountain-entry. Here I'd like to share my experience participating in this otherworldly ritual.
My journey started early on May 2nd; getting from my house in Tokushima to the trailhead of Mt. Ōmine involves riding a series of trains and buses deep into the mountains of Nara. I finally arrived in Dorogawa, the sleepy onsen town that serves as the basecamp of Mt. Ōmine, at around 2 in the afternoon. In the past, practitioners of Shugendō would have traveled weeks on foot from all over Japan to participate in the ceremony, so it's hard to complain.
On the bus I overheard a couple of young women outfitted for hiking looking over a trail map. "Woah, this mountain is off limits to women? In this day and age! What's that all about?" Sanjō-ga-take is the last holdout of a tradition that until recently characterized nearly all sacred mountains in Japan; its precincts are clearly marked by gates with large lettering emblazoned with "Nyonin Kekkai" (女人結界, "Women's Boundary"). Though legally unenforceable, few women break the rule. Rumors (dubious, but often-repeated) of accidents and untimely deaths for those who ignore the the rule abound among those faithful to the mountain, both men and women.
Opinions on the restriction are divided. On one hand, the number of women practicing Shugen has exploded in recent years, and most I ask have a deep yearning to visit the place at the heart of their tradition. On the other, as with so many things in Japan, traditions on the mountain are dictated by its elders, and elders often hold traditional positions that seem anachronistic. When I started practicing Shugendō, many gave the ban on women five more years. That was five years ago. Soon, I hope, the following experience will be open to women, too.
Dorogawa itself is at 820m of elevation, and getting off the bus I was greeted by an exhilarating mountain chill. I immediately made my way to Ōmine Ryūsen-ji (Dragon-Spring Temple) the headquarters of the branch of Shugendō in which I practice. The temple's name refers to the pure waters that flow from an opening in the rock on the temple grounds, discovered by En no Gyōja, the progenitor of Shugendō. After greeting the temple's deities in its main hall and the separate chapel dedicated to the Eight Great Dragon Kings, I purified my body in the waterfall on the temple grounds.
This kind of purification (禊, misogi) is commonly undertaken before entry into the sacred realm of the mountains. Water is a gift from the mountains, flowing down in springtime to nourish rice fields. Many of the sacred sites in the area of Dorogawa are centered on water, and it's the melting of the snows that marks the appropriate season for climbing Ōmine's sacred peaks. Bathing in waterfalls and springs is one way in which practitioners surrender to and become one with the mountains. This fundamental aspect of our practice is why Shugen practitioners are called Yamabushi, "those who prostrate themselves on the mountains."
When dusk came I made my way out of town toward the trailhead at Shōjō Ōhashi, the bridge that marks the boundary between the secular world and the sacred world of the mountains. I changed into the traditional clothing used by Shugenja and began climbing around 9.
My eagerness to get started meant I was earlier than most climbers, and I spent most of the climb alone. As the night grew darker, the birds stopped singing and the only sounds were those of my body as I moved. Though I expected to feel some fear climbing by myself, the atmosphere on the mountain was calm and welcoming. It was easy to sink into the quiet darkness of the forest and bigness of the star-studded sky above.
Eventually the lights of Ōminesan-ji and its five shukubō (宿坊, temple accommodations) came into view. I arrived at the mountaintop around midnight. A few other early climbers were asleep on the benches of the lobby of Ryūsen-ji's shukubō, snores wafted out of the private tatami rooms. The night was cold and I was stupidly underdressed, so I spent the next couple of hours until the start of the ceremony shivering, whispering mantras, and drinking tea. The room gradually filled up with other Yamabushi as they arrived at the mountaintop. By 2am the room was abuzz with chatter and prayers of those arriving, and the sleepers had awoken and begun to change into their regalia. At about 2:30, everyone climbed the last set of stairs toward Ōminesan-ji for the beginning of the ritual.
3am, the Hour of the Tiger, is considered the most auspicious time in Shugen and Buddhist practice because of its quietness, when both the diurnal and nocturnal worlds rest. Appropriately, the ceremony started quietly with the "Passing of the Key". Each year, the temple's key rotates to one of the abbots of the five valley temples who manage the mountaintop hall. The authenticity and condition of the key is theatrically checked by one of the many laypeople in attendance. Finally, all in attendance chant the Heart Sutra together.
After this quiet key-passing is finished, all in attendance explode outside. The five abbots are hoisted on the shoulders of their assistants and paraded around to shouts of washoi! as gyōja blow their conch trumpets to welcome the start of a new year of practice.
After a few turns around the courtyard in front of the temple, the year's key-holder unlocks the door and those in attendance press inside to line up for the peak of the ceremony. In groups of about twenty, practitioners are ushered into the inner part of the hall to pay obeisances to statues that remain largely hidden for the rest of the year. This year, in commemoration of the 20th anniversary of Ōmine's registration as a World Heritage Site, the temple's main image was also revealed for the first time in several years. This image, a rough-hewn Zaō Gongen, the deity of the mountain, will be on display until the end of the climbing season in September.
But deeper in the temple is the reason why many gyōja face the danger and cold of a nighttime climb to participate in the ceremony: the Himitsu Gyōja, (秘密行者 "Secret Practitioner"). This statue of En no Gyōja is said to have been carved by the saint himself as he looked at his face in a pond; the items he holds, as such, are reversed. No one sees the statue, it is said, without being invited to do so. Those present at the Door-Opening are allowed to kneel before it and chant the Heart Sutra together.
Every time I come face to face with this statue, I am reminded of why I practice Shugen. High on the mountain, at one with nature in its original purity, En no Gyōja's crystal eyes glitter in the candlelight. For a moment, the anxieties that brought me to Ōmine seem far away, laughable, not even worth remembering. "This practice isn't for you, it's for others!" his sparkling eyes say.
En no Gyōja is also known as Jinpen Daibosatsu (神変大菩薩), "God-Becoming Great Bodhisattva." The two halves of his name remind me that the Shugen path is not one of accruing power to alleviate my own suffering and inflate my own ego. It's the path of encountering my own true nature in order to benefit all beings.
Outside the temple, the eastern sky is turning blue and yellow, birds are singing, and gyōja gather chanting around a Saitō Goma, a great fire ceremony done to honor the deities of the mountain. The rising sun gradually turns the horizon bright red on the dawn of a new year of practice, connections, and prayer for the benefit of all beings.
Namu Jinpen Daibosatsu!
Namu Jinpen Daibosatsu!
Namu Jinpen Daibosatsu!
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