Lost on Mt. Inari
Wanderlust is one of the strangest propensities you can have. It is an urge to simply keep moving forward in the hope of finding something wonderful. What that something is, you have no idea. That’s what makes it so intoxicating. It is the barest form of curiosity, brazen in its greed for discovering the new, whether it is for better or worse.
Some people are blessed, or perhaps cursed with an innate wanderlust. They roam the Earth, seeking the thrill of the unexpected, the exotic. I am not one of those people. But on the holy Mount Inari on the southeastern tip of Kyoto, I experienced for a brief moment that greedy feeling that spurred me onwards. Mt. Inari is chiefly famous for the Fushimi-Inari shrine, a sprawling holy complex that includes the senbon-torii, the world renowned “Thousand Gates”.
Past the initial tunnel of saffron-red gates, I trekked alone. Up and up the path spiraled, twisting and turning with the curves of the mountain. All the while the crowd thins and thins, until about halfway up, where you are almost entirely alone. A few shops selling snacks and water dot the mountainside, but otherwise this is a true mountain path – little but rocks and the occasional sign pointing upwards. The arboreal canopy casts the sun into misty rays of light, and heat rises from the ground. It’s a surprisingly exhausting climb.
Nonetheless, my pace quickened. I had seen the first of four shrines, the fourth being at the top. I approached a sign – the English signs had long since ended, and this one I tried my best to read with my elementary Japanese – and as far as I could tell, I was still an hour away from the top. Drenched with sweat and facing the prospect of a tomorrow lost to typhoon Jebi, I made the decision to finally head down the mountain.
On an uncharacteristic whim, I took a different route down. I saw a vague path on an old map standing at a fork in the path. On my left was the tunnel of gates from where I had come. On my right were a series of stones that led off somewhere different. I went right.
I was soon alone on that path, which was little more than a series of large boulders in a line. Eventually it led far, far away from the original temple complex, and spat me out on the side of the mountain. From there I followed the sound of water to a thin cobblestone road, lined with squat little houses. Each was small and old, but they were kept meticulously clean and maintained, a little village on the side of the mountain. Looking down the road, I saw the vast expanse of the old capital, nestled in the green mountains. Many of the houses repurposed their rocky lawns into makeshift temples, housing shrines or statues of the Buddha. I meandered down through this empty, quiet road for a long while, having forgotten my initial goal of getting down.
I came across the golden Buddha pictured, and there I sat for a while. I drank some water and took in the view. There in the eternal peace of the Buddha I took my fill of the vista and felt a strange calm. It was an enormous fifteen-foot statue, erected in the humblest of homes on that road. It was probably the culmination of a lifetime’s savings, perhaps multiple lifetimes’.
I said a quiet prayer and moved on, having found what I was looking for.