A Rare Ceremony

Dear Family and Friends,

Today was very unusual. My friend Izumi had asked me to an initiation ceremony for a new Buddhist priest. It was to take place far from Sendai, in the countryside. It was a very rare event, so we both felt very honored to be able to attend.

I had always understood that becoming a Buddhist priest in Japan was hereditary. The position went from father to son, often for several generations. Each family was in charge of a particular temple. They usually lived next door, which allowed the atmosphere of each place to be unique, some even feeling rather homey.

That, I learned, is often the case, but not always. It seems many men, unconnected to a temple, decide to join the priesthood. They do it as a kind of supplement to their fulltime work. These men probably will never have their own temple, but will assist in places as needed.

And that was the case with the man being initiated today. Even though his wife came from a long line of Buddhist priests, he, Suzuki Yoshiki San, had never been particularly involved with Buddhism. In fact, he had been raised a Christian. 

His life had taken him from job to job, until in his late fifties, he became interested in numerology and how it connected to birthdays, places, and names. He currently carves personal name seals, hanko はんこ. He uses his knowledge of numbers and their influence to carve hanko in such a way that the shape and number of strokes will be harmonious for each individual.

HIs wife has similar interests. Realizing her spouse’s sensitivity to others and the world around him, she kept urging him to become a priest. Finally, in his sixties, he agreed.

I had understood that the kind of ceremony we were to attended today was because Suzuki San had completed his training and was ready to embark on service in the community. But again, I was mistaken. 

It turned out this ceremony was held before Suzuki San had even started training. It was truly an initiation, not a graduation. So, at each stage as the ritual unfolded, a priest whispered to Suzuki what he should do. There were six priests in all. One chanted the prayers, one gave instructions to us witnessing the event, one rang a gong, one instructed Suzuki San step-by-step, and all of them prayed bowing their heads to the floor.

Preparing the ritual

There were parts of the ritual that I was able to understand clearly. For example, at one point, the priest conducting the prayers pretended to shave a bit of hair off Suzuki San’s head. “Are you ready to become a priest?” He asked three times. “Yes, I am.” “Yes, I am.” “Yes, I am.” And then the top part of his head was actually shaved.

Then a whisk was used to sprinkle water on Suzuki San as well as on the priest conducting the prayers. That, obviously, was for washing clean, for purifying the heart.

Despite saying “Yes” three times, Suzuki San seemed unsure and rather worried throughout. Izumi said she thought he was nervous with so many people there. His wife, on the other hand, was very much at home. She glided through the entire afternoon with great poise and happiness. 

I trust with time Suzuki San will become confident in his new role. And then he will be able to serve the community by going from place to place as needed, just as the six priests did for him today.

Formal photo after the ceremony

Love,

Anne

American Impressions

Dear Family and Friends,

I had not been to America in almost four years. But I went last month. I wanted to clear out a storage unit I had had for over thirty years. It was time to get things back into circulation. At this stage, life is no longer about holding on, but rather about putting into circulation and letting go.

Corona brought many changes worldwide. But abruptly returning to America was like being hit with amazement. There was so much I had forgotten, or that had changed significantly.

There were two things that struck me first. America’s beauty and sizes. I had not been there in spring for almost forty, maybe fifty, years. So, I delighted in the gracious splendor of the season. The entire east coast seemed green and bedecked with flowering trees, especially cherry. It touched me deeply to see a necklace of pink blossoms extending from New England to Maryland (and probably much further). I smiled thinking of my Japanese friends who often ask if America has Sakura. Yes, it does. And not only the famous ones in DC (which Japan gave over a hundred years ago). They now seem to almost cover the country.

America thinks big. The size of trucks alone was rather daunting. They were huge and hundreds of them zoomed along highways, right next to small passenger vehicles. The roads themselves were enormous, some six lanes in one direction. And everyone seemed in a hurry.

People, too, have expanded in size. All emphasized by the lycra clothing popular today. What surprised me more than the sizes themselves, however, was the matter-of-fact acceptance that this change was something completely normal. And exposing it was, too. Japanese have been getting fatter, too. But compared to many Americans, they look like stick figures.

I reveled in the variety of so much in America. Variety of races, of cultures, of languages, of food. The blending of people and customs was thrilling. Walking down a street in New York or even strolling on the green in a small town in Maryland was like taking a trip around the world.

The food was splendid. Sizes and portions are much larger, of course. Milk products in particular stuck me, probably because they are richer and fuller than what I buy in Japan. Cottage cheese was a daily delight. So were ice cream and yogurt. Cheese was sprinkled or melted on many dishes. In fact, it was hard to have a meal without it.

There were many ethnic restaurants, even in very small towns. Mexican, Pakistani, and Lebanese were favorites. But there were plenty of Italian and Spanish, and of course, Indian, Vietnamese and Soul. To name a few.

Another thing that struck me about Americans was their self-confidence. Their basic energy seemed to be an outward thrust, a positive attitude, a sense of being able to do anything. And people spoke their ideas loudly, even in public places. It was very common to hear friends discussing relationship problems or emotional issues as they walked down a street. Everything seemed so overt, especially in comparison to the Japanese way of keeping things private and not revealing one’s innermost self.

One more small, but significant, observation concerned toddlers in daycare. In New York there were many nannies pushing strollers. Sometimes there were two, but more often three, four, even five wee ones in one stroller. Each child had an individual seat and was quite separate from the others. In Japan, however, very small children are moved about in what looks like an open box on wheels. All the kids are placed together in one unified space. This allows them to know they are always part of a group. So, something as simple as how children are transported can subtly instill a sense of personal identity, whether individualistic or collective.

I was fascinated watching myself in America. I have not lived there for forty-five years, but even so, I could feel my American roots rising to the surface when I was there. Simple things, like standing with my hands in my back pockets or sitting with one ankle perched on the opposite knee. The way I chatted with people or flowed along in conversations were different from how I do it in Japan. It felt very familiar, as if I were in my younger years and home.

It was a good trip, excellent, in fact. I feel a deep love and appreciation for the country of my birth, my upbringing, my family and friends.  America has its problems, yes. But there is so much hope there, too. Of course, with all the vicissitudes happening everywhere now, I wonder what America’s –  and the world’s — next chapter will be.

Love,

Anne

It was nice being back

Dear Family and Friends,

Imai Sensei is someone I have admired for years. He and I used to work in the same university. But his life’s work took him far beyond being a teacher. He is a Baptist preacher and got the foundation for how to be a Christian from a stint in Germany. There he learned that practicing religion means working for the greater good of the community. That is why he started Yomawari Group when he returned to Sendai.

Yomawari is an NGO that helps homeless people. It started mostly serving meals, plus handing out clothing and daily necessities. Over the years it has expanded to include showers, help with finding odd jobs or work and housing. Fortunately for everyone, the building boom in Sendai has left many old, but perfectly good, buildings vacant. So, Imai Sensei negotiated with city officials to use them as homes for the people he serves. 

I used to go relatively often to prepare and serve meals with Yomawari. But I had not volunteered for many years. However, the other day a friend invited me back, so I decided to go and see what I could do.

As usual, the atmosphere was very welcoming. Long-time volunteers greeted the homeless with kindness and respect, and me with great warmth. They knew everyone by name and made small talk with each person there. The atmosphere was relaxed and happy. It was nice being back. 

It was a cold day. Before things started, volunteers hovered on one side, while the unsheltered slowly drifted in. They sat in a large circle around the park, waiting for the signal to head to the table. 

As we were setting up, however, three young girls came bounding over and said, “We want to help.” We volunteers were both surprised and delighted. 

Of course, there were many questions. Names. Ages. Schools. (All were in 4^th grade of elementary school). 

Two younger boys, not wanting to be left out, dashed over to see what was going on. One was in first grade. 

Being kids, they could not hold still, so there was a lot of jumping and hopping, ceaseless motion. But they did listen attentively. 

And they were great volunteers, working smoothly beside the adults.

I was lucky to work with a fourth-grade girl and the first-grade boy, Mika and Kazuki. They were not shy at all, as most Japanese kids are. They asked questions and gave long answers to mine. They had to explain some vocabulary to me, and did so completely naturally. Most Japanese get very embarrassed and shy when I ask a question. They simply shut down. But these kids were marvelously open and curious. And willing to share ideas and help out.  Mika’s, Kazuki’s, and my job was to offer “lucky bags” with a few daily necessities inside. They did their work efficiently and very proudly.

The guests could come back as often as they liked. Many came for second, even third, helpings. But gradually the crowd dispersed, the volunteers cleared up, and the kids, still hopping and dancing with their boundless energy, decided it was time to go, too, so off they ran. We tossed the bit of leftover rice for the pigeons to enjoy, which they did, of course.

“Thank you. See you next time,” we said as we waved good-bye. It was a very good “soup run”. I am sure I will be back, not waiting so long the next time.

Love,  

Anne

An Equestrian Japanese Lesson

Dear Family and Friends,

My Japanese lessons are not lessons in the conventional sense at all. My teacher thinks that experiencing Japanese culture, while chatting only in Japanese, is one of the best ways to learn the complex intricacies of the Japanese psyche. That, she feels, is far more important than knowing the spoken or written language well. So, the “Language of the Heart” is where our lessons take place. And that often entails a day trip.

Rumiko Sensei and I both have very busy schedules, so do not meet often. But when we do, it is always a joyous time of sharing and discovery. Yesterday, for example, she decided I should see an equestrian center. “I know you will love the horses,” she said. “And besides, it is near the sea, which is so expansive and beautiful.” I laughed and agreed, of course.

The highway to get there was built on a ridge. One side had very flat open spaces, paddies soon to be flooded and planted. The other had been completely devastated by the March 11, 2011 tsunami. Only a few scraggily old pines were still standing. But beneath them was a thick forest of new trees. They had been planted by OISCA after the devastation. It was reassuring to see they were doing well.

The first thing Rumiko Sensei and I did was to buy a cup of snacks for the horses. She told me they used to get carrots, but now it was grasses.

There were two long stables with rows of absolutely gorgeous animals. Their colors ranged from white to jet black, with many shades of grays and browns between. Each had its own stall and was patiently standing, curious when someone came close. Their noses and mouths wiggled delightfully as they ate the treat offered them.

The care given to these magnificent creatures was very impressive. They went on walks, were groomed, and fed on a regular basis. 

When we were there, one mare was having his mane trimmed. And a dentist had just attended to one of his troublesome teeth. The man was not local, but rather had come from a prefecture close to Tokyo, several hours away.

The love felt for these animals was palpable. And the horses responded with gentleness and trust. It was very reassuring and soothing to simply be in their presence.

We spent a long time looking, admiring, and asking questions. Then Rumiko Sensei and I went into the office area. There was a display about the infamous 2011 tsunami. There were pictures and explanations about what had happened at the equestrian center at that time. 

Naturally, the horses had been terrified. They broke loose and tried to escape. They went in all directions in the immediate area. Unfortunately, more than twelve died, but over thirty were found alive. They were all very agitated until given water and food. Then they gradually calmed down.

I was very touched by the number of places in Japan, and even as far as Australia, that took in some of these traumatized horses. Later, after Miyagi had stabilized, many of them were returned. Some were ones we had admired a few minutes before.

Before we left, we went to a memorial for the horses lost in the tsunami. It was a simple, very beautiful black stone with a few words carved into it. A plate of carrots and a bunch of flowers had been placed before it. 

Rumiko Sensei and I couched down and bowed our heads. “Thank you, Lovely Creatures, for having shared your life with us on earth. And may you be well wherever you are now.”

We left, both feeling very calm and refreshed. The gentle, almost Zen-like energy of the horses was a very profound, long-lasting experience indeed.

Love,

Anne

No One Was There

Dear Family and Friends,

My friend Izumi has a way of finding new places and things. So, it is always a delight of discovery when I am with her. Even in the most mundane places, she finds something of interest.

Take our ride home yesterday, for example. She takes my English class, which is a short ride out of Sendai. I go there by train, which toots its way through soothing farmland with paddies and distant mountains. But Izumi drives me home after class. The route by road is entirely different. It is overly built up and an assault of noise and ugliness on all sides. 

I treasure my rare times with Izumi, so go with her, but always miss the beauty the train ride allows.

Yesterday, though, Izumi said she had seen a sign for a shop that she wanted to visit. Would I mind? Everything there was made of soy. That included anything from ice cream to pizzas. 

That in itself was interesting. But what struck me more was that no one was there. It was complete self-service.

Izumi is very skilled with maneuvering the digital kingdom. So, she knew exactly what to do. After we admired everything, 

she selected four pizzas, a few rolls, and a cream cake (all out of soy). She then calculated the price, 

and slid the correct amount into a slot in the wall. 

That was it.

I was completely taken aback. Anyone could have stolen everything there. But Izumi said, “That happens sometime with old people, but there are security cameras, so no problem.”

That incident made me think of a recent “Backstory” I saw on NHK. It was about the labor shortages Japan is facing. As in China and South Korea, Japan has an age-heavy problem with the number of oldsters on pensions far outweighing the young. That means, among other things, a labor shortage.

But people here adapt. In some places, farmers have started using robots to pick fruit. And people who would normally retire are working longer. It is not unusual to see older men working at construction sites or collecting rubbish, and women in their 70s as receptionists or shop keepers.

Also because of this population dilemma, Japan has reluctantly been opening its borders to foreign workers. Most are from Southeast Asia. My Japanese teacher teaches some of them in a very intensive month-long course. Then they head off to jobs, mostly in health care facilities for the aged or factories. They are very needed and appreciated. However, as the NHK program pointed out, with the weak yen and long working hours, many of them realize being in Japan was not what they had expected. Some are returning home and suggesting to others not to come.

Likewise, interestingly, many young Japanese are fleeing this country to find work overseas. I have a former student who worked in Japanese companies for almost fifteen years, but is now in Germany. “I could never work in Japan again,” she told me. “Here everyone goes home at 5 pm and I have my weekends free. In Japan I stayed each day until the job was finished, so was often in the office past midnight.”

The NHK program showed that many young Japanese are now working in Australia. They love the lifestyle there and some have applied for permanent residency. One woman who was a nurse said that in Australia she earned in one week what had taken her a month to earn in Japan.

So, times are definitely changing. As the world seeks ways to adapt, my greatest hope is that we do not lose the importance of actual connections, whether they be between humans or us and our fragile, yet still very beautiful natural world.

Love,

Anne

Old Buildings, Living Essence

Dear Family and Friends,

Ever since I got to Sendai, I have been fascinated by old houses scattered around the city and countryside. At first, most were still lived in and held a charm and wonder that only old things have. In fact, my friend Shuhei told me that in Japan well used items are highly revered. They are considered almost sacred for the essence and history they bear.

Over the years, especially since the 2011 earthquake and tsunami, much of Sendai has been, and still is being, rebuilt. More and more new homes and developments are devouring the city. I find most are soul-less and depressing without gardens or even a tree.

In contrast, though, many old places remain. A large number of them are empty and falling to ruin. Others are appear lived in, as if the owner will soon return from work. And maybe they will. Sometimes it is hard to tell if a shack is still a home or once was. 

(Actually, a precious 92 year old lady lives in this home. She has been there since she got married about 70 years ago. She is an anchor of the neighborhood. Everyone knows and loves her.)

Inhabited or not, all of these places emit a rather haunting feeling, a mystery, a long history of stories, both happy and sad.

I love exploring my neighborhood and beyond. It has many narrow, winding streets, which surely began long ago as footpaths. Of course, on these excursions of discovery, I take a camera and delight in adding to my collection of memories.

It seems I am not the only one who enjoys this pastime. I recently learned of a group of photographers who have been recording old buildings in this area for years. They are currently holding an exhibition called Sendai Collection.

And what a collection it is! Photo after teeny photo of black and white shots from 2000 to 2022. These are punctuated with ones a bit larger for variety and orientation.  The show covers several rooms. At first the sheer number seemed overwhelming. But as I started looking closely at each picture, I found myself completely absorbed. Each building, each home contained a deep spirit that spoke profoundly and nostalgically. Who had lived there? What quiet wisdom does that building have to share?

To my surprise, I found several images of places I myself had photographed, some very close to my home. Some looked the same, others more weatherworn, yet still, more or less, intact. The literally thousands of photos in the show were a treasure trove, requiring many visits to appreciate fully. 

What I appreciated just as much as the pictures were the other visitors. Many were huddled with friends around a photo, examining and discussing everything in great detail. Surely, they were the living history that those buildings now reflect.

Of course, the relentless rebuilding in Sendai will continue to march forward. And the Sendai Collection photographers will continue recording that evolution. For them, perhaps, part of their work involves both reminiscence and a looking ahead. But for me, it is more an ongoing discovery into the profound essence of this culture, with its stories, mysteries, and wonderment that never cease to captivate me to the core of my being.

Love,

Anne

Mashiko Town

Dear Family and Friends,

One of my favorite persons in Sendai is Ito San, my travel agent. She has her own company now, but before that she was a tour guide. She held that job for almost twenty years. So, she knows every nook and cranny of this country. And she has an amazing memory of what she has seen and done. Plus, she knows her clients well and designs tours to suit their preferences. In other words, she is wonderful!

For years Ito San urged me to visit Mashiko Town. “It is famous for pottery. You will love it.” She always said, adding, “There is a long street lined with pottery shops. So, I know it will interest you.”

From her description, I envisioned shops, all pretty much alike, all selling the same sorts of things. I am not interested in that kind of experience while traveling, so have always politely opted out. However, when planning a recent trip for a friend and me, she slipped in Mashiko as part of the tour. I did not have the energy to resist, so went along with it.

I am glad I did.

What a euphoric surprise Mashiko was! Yes, there is a major road cutting through it, but otherwise, it is a charming town with traditional buildings, several with thatched roofs.

Everywhere the long history of pottery-making is promoted. There are posters with old photos throughout the town.

And each shop features unique, handmade pieces that can only be considered pure art. Shop after shop is a feast of artistic wonder.

Pottery masterpieces are everywhere: in restaurants, hotels, the train station, the museum, and even public toilets. It was magical to walk around the town, discovering one gorgeous item after another.

Mashiko’s pottery Master was Hamada Shoji (1894-1978). He was designated a Living National Treasure. Even today, his influence permeates every inch of Mashiko and far beyond. He is world renown.

In addition to pottery, there is one studio specializing in indigo dyeing. Everything there is natural. The building itself is traditional and all the dyes are plant-based. From beginning to end the process is done by hand. The results are gorgeous.

Our time in Mashiko was too short. There are temples and shrines still to visit. And the countryside is filled with fields and farms, so beautiful any time of the year.

When I returned to Sendai, of course, I visited Ito San. I humbly thanked her for planning a trip that included Mashiko. She smiled and said, “See, I told you!”

She knows me well. So, the next time she suggests a place, I am sure to agree right away. I know I will not be disappointed.

Love,
Anne

A Japanese New Year

January 3, 2023

Dear Family and Friends,

Of course, everywhere people celebrate the New Year. But in Japan there seems to be an added dimension to honor that special occasion. お正月 (Oshogatsu) is deeply spiritual and marked by subtle, but highly significant rituals.

I was fortunate to experience this New Year with a visiting friend. Last year Izumi and I were together at her home. So, she took charge of what we did. But this time it was up to me to meaningfully present Japanese customs and traditions.

One very important part of it is New Year’s ritual foodおせち料理 (O-sechi). This beautifully arranged feast is first an offering to the Gods. Afterwards, it is for the family to enjoy with shared time together. There is always plenty, with enough for leftovers. Traditionally, that was a way to thank the women of the house by giving them a few days’ break from their never-ending household tasks.

And what a feast it is! O-sechi containers come in tiers, each with specific choices of fish, meats, cooked vegetables, seaweed, and sweets. Of course, each layer is both breathtakingly beautiful and highly symbolic.

O-sechi boxes are first opened on New Year’s Day. But midnight on the 31^st is also highly significant. People who can go to Shinto Shrines to pray. They also buy charms so as to learn the direction of their fortunes for the year.

My friend and I headed out a bit early to see what was happening. We passed a lovely small shrine that was well lit up. Whether worshippers came or not did not matter. Honoring the Kami (God/desses) is always crucial, especially at times when Heaven is a bit more accessible, such as now, the New Year.

We finally arrived at Aoba Jingu, which is an important shrine in Sendai. To my surprise, it was almost dark and besides us, no one was there. Even so, we stood before the altar with its huge round Shinto mirror, bowed, clapped, prayed, and bowed again.

We were not ready to leave. Fortunately, we found a bench, so sat and immersed ourselves in the profound stillness around us. Gradually a few people arrived. Then a few more. And a few more, until there was a steady stream of worshippers waiting patiently for their turn to approach the altar and make their New Year salutations.

Aoba Shrine is in a very old area that has an arc of Shinto Shrines and Buddhist Temples lining the street. At exactly 23:30, a nearby temple sounded its gong. The deep vibrations reverberated across the entire neighborhood. The echoing sound was haunting and touched deeply into the core of being.

Soon after, another gong sounded and yet another. Each was from a different temple. Each had its own particular vibration, its own unique energy and message. Together they harmonized to promise a unified whole.

Even so, the sounds were uneven and irregular. Some were close and loud, others distant and faint. The darkness, punctuated by a few lights, plus the reverberating sound of the gongs, gave a profoundly sacred texture to the night. Indeed, the entire atmosphere was filled with deep mystery and unspeakable awe.

For me, that experience was probably the most spiritually significant. But honoring the New Year was far from over. The following day and the day after, people continued to flock to shrines. It is important to do so in order to let go of the past and to start the New Year with purity and grace.

Hopefully, those ideals and the generosity of spirit they promise will reverberate throughout the entire world and become a reality that everyone everywhere has the courage and maturity to share.

Love,
Anne

The Japanese Mind

Dear Family and Friends,

Today in my advanced English class we talked about “the Japanese Mind” and how it differed from Western ways of thinking. Of course, we touched up “collective and individualistic cultures” and their differing mindsets. That led to natural disasters and their influence on the Japanese psyche. In times of emergency, the Japanese know they have to act collectively, literally to survive. And of course, being an island nation with a history of years of enforced isolation has also contributed to what could be considered a very unique mindset.

I have lived many years in Japan and have made great efforts to understand the Japanese way of thinking. Even now, I continually try and fit in to this society. However, I realize over and over again that the structure of my psyche will always be American. Let me give you a few examples.

I take T’ai Chi lessons in a program with about seven teachers. Each teacher specializes in one form and we students choose which group we would like join. I did one form for a year. But the teacher and I thought so differently that it was better for me to go elsewhere when the year was up. 

Our differences came mostly because I raised my hand and boldly asked questions. The teacher was not used to that. She felt I was confronting her. I was not. I respected her knowledge, and therefore, asked her advice. The other students, without the teacher knowing, told me they appreciated my questions because they dared not ask themselves. For them, if they asked questions, they felt they would have stood out too much. That would have embarrassed them. It may have also brought shame to the teacher for not instructing in a way that made questions unnecessary.  The teacher could never come to see the situation from my perspective. So, I felt it was better to change groups.

My next teacher was a university professor, so he was fine with my questions. But in this group, too, I stood out as very non-Japanese, but in another way. I had joined after the other members had worked on a particular form for a year. I came in a complete beginner. There were all levels of proficiency. So, the good students were in the front and the struggling ones in the back. I, of course, was in the very back row. 

However, in that humble position I could not see the proper way to do a form. I really wanted to learn. So, I simply moved forward to be next to one of the advanced students. At first, the teacher looked rather startled. But he quickly figured out what I was doing. So, after that, every week he assigned me to the front. I appreciated his understanding and flexibility very much.

There is one thing that amazes me, though. And it might be considered another example of “the Japanese Mind”. The stumbling students in the back, despite being surrounded by only ill-performers, eventually learned how to do the form properly. They seemed to intuit the right way. I, on the other hand,  despite the special treatment I am getting, am still struggling with basics.

Later this same teacher could not come to class. He left instructions what we were to do. We realized what he assigned would never fill the two-hour lesson. So, everyone seemed to panic. As they buzzed and fretted, I simply said, “We are adults. We can choose for ourselves. And Wako San is the best in our group, so maybe she can lead us today.”

As soon as I said that, everyone stopped talking and jumped back, staring at me as if I were some sort of monster. Some even had their mouths open in utter surprise. I just shrugged, backed off , and let them continue deliberating.

The following week, the teacher was again absent. Everyone turned to me and said, “What are we going to do today, Anne.” I was startled and said it depended on what everyone wanted. Again, they were surprised by my response. But eventually one man took over and since then he has been our leader. Everyone seems relieved that way.

But one unexpected addition to this arrangement is that now the more advanced students deliberately help those of us who are struggling. Instead of lining up by ability, we are mixed together. People ask questions and whoever can is  delighted to assist. So, it really is a team effort. And that makes me feel happiest of all.

Love,
Anne

An Autumn Outing

Andrew’s Visit

Dear Family and Friends,

And of course, more food. Yamadera has excellent cuisine, so we indulged. Andrew told me it was maybe one of the best meals he had ever had in Japan.

Shinto Festival

Dear Family and Friends,

A friend told me about a Shinto festival at Sendai’s Osaki-Hachiman-Jingu Shrine today. I had not been to one of their events in a long time, so decided to go. My friend’s son would be there helping. That, of course, added to my eagerness to attend.

As soon as my friend’s son could crawl and make his wishes known, he demanded that his mom take him to the Shrine so he could spend time with the priests. They loved him, of course, and let him crawl around, exploring as he wished. He has been going there ever since, and now at age eleven is happy to serve when and now he can.

I was not sure what to expect today. Osaki-Hachiman-Jingu has a variety of festivals throughout the year. For example, there a special day to honor and protect firemen. And another that entails competitions on horseback. Riders gallop at full speed along a short, narrow pathway, shooting arrows at targets set along the course. Onlookers are alarmingly nearby. And of course, there is Dontosai, held in the dead of winter. For that, male participants wear only loincloths (woman a bit more), and walk through the city ringing bells as they head to the Shrine. There New Year decorations are burned in huge bonfires.

So, what should I expect today?

Several blocks away from Osaki-Hachiman-Jingu, I could already hear the continuous whining drone of flutes and the slow, steady beat of drums. I wandered past festival food stalls