Shikoku Mix CD track stories

What are all these weird songs?

Hey peeps! It's been awhile. Been back a month and change, and have been chilling in San Bruno and  various other places. My main activities have been sorting out wedding details, and trying to visit as many of the indiegogo donors as possible to give them my thanks, and the Shikoku gift package I've made for everybody! Included in every package is the Shikoku Mix CD, which I envisioned as a musical simulation of my experience on the pilgrimage. Although there are short blurbs explaining the story of each track, I'd also like to give a more in-depth explanation of each track. Here goes!

1. "The Dragon Child" by Joe Hisaishi- From the Spirited Away soundtrack, this song sounds to me like the strange mix of anticipation, fear, and exultation I felt traveling to the island of Shikoku to begin the pilgrimage. I've always loved Joe Hisaishi's uniquely Japanese orchestral style, and it seems like the perfect way to open up the mixtape!

2. "Aruarian Dance" by Nujabes- For me, this is one of the most perfect pieces of music ever assembled. This is the sound of experiencing incredible fulfillment and joy simply walking through the rice fields and temples on a clear day. It's also about the satisfaction of beginning my goal of walking the pilgrimage, a goal I had wanted to tackle for nearly 10 years.

3. "Color of Autumn" by Nujabes- This song is dedicated to Mr. Okuda, the proprietor of the Okuda Guest House, my home in Shikoku. He's an irreverent and hilarious fellow, and hanging out with him at the guesthouse became a major motivation to complete the pilgrimage. This song sounds the way it feels chilling at the guesthouse and chatting with fellow pilgrims.

4. "Furaibo" by Happi Endo- This easygoing rock song is dedicated to Yuuta, a cool young father of two I met at the guesthouse. A chill and funny guy, Yuuta is a true adventurer, and before the pilgrimage, he studied abroad in Alabama!!! Young Japanese guys like Yuuta make me excited about the future of Japan.

5. "Kaidoku Funo" by Jinn- This brash punk tune is inspired by Kaya Tei, a female pilgrim I met that shaved her head just because Shikoku was too humid. I admire that ruthlessness, and Jinn's razor blade-like vocals evokes the same sense of resolve to accomplish your goal, no matter the cost.

6. "Mufujotai" by Akiko Yano- The school kids in Shikoku were super friendly, and I never got tired of saying Konnichiwa 30 times in a row to a bunch of them on their way to school. Jazz singer Akiko Yano's quirky vocals evoke the same childish playfulness of those awesome Shikoku school children.

7. "Lady Brown" by Nujabes- This song, another Nujabes track, also evokes the feeling of walking through Shikoku. However, instead of fulfillment and peace, this song reminds me of the determination I felt to walk through the heat, humidity, and the rain and complete the quest, no matter what.

8. "Shohmyoh" by Geinoh Yamashirogumi- You visit a lot of Buddhist temples in Shikoku, so this is an interesting setting of a Buddhist chant from the soundtrack of the motion picture Akira. Geinoh Yamashirogumi was a fascinating community choir composed of lawyers, housewives, and even homeless people, and their unique sound evokes the wide range of people that choose to walk the pilgrimage.

9. "Valse de la Lune" by Yoko Kanno- I met some cool European and Commonwealth pilgrims, and I was always impressed by their poise and sophistication. This song, with vocals by Italian vocalist Ilaria Graziano, is dedicated to them.

10. "Wo Qui Non Coin" by Aoi Tada- In Kochi I stayed at an interesting hotel modeled after a Greek villa that also had a menagerie of animals to play with! This song reminds me of relaxing at that hotel watching the sunset after a hard day of trekking. 

11. "Rouge Message" by Matsutoya Yumi- This upbeat, throwback jam is dedicated to my Auntie Emiko, at whose house I crashed while recovering from an ankle injury. Auntie Emiko doesn't let things get her down, and this song has that same optimistic upbeat energy.

12. "Ghost City" by Kenji Kawai- Shinto, not Buddhism, is actually the native religion of Japan, and it is a fascinating faith that permeates all of Japanese life. This song evokes the ancient shrines, rituals and spirits of the unique Shinto faith.

13. "Silver River" by Yoko Kanno- Before making it to the final 88th temple, the path travels over the  perilous cliffs and ridges of Mt. Nyotai. This song evokes the tension and trepidation of climbing the mountain, the final dragon before the conclusion of the pilgrimage.

14. "Street of the Gods" by Joe Hisaishi- This song, again from the Spirited Away soundtrack, summons the emotions of triumph and relief I felt when I made it to the 88th temple. It was a joyful moment, and if you read the blog, you know that even greater joy was waiting for me back at the start of the pilgrimage.

15. "Crazy Sunshine" by The Pillows- The pilgrimage is over, and it's time to party! This song reminds me of hanging out with my old friend Tatsuo Hayakawa back in Tokyo after completing the quest. He's an old buddy from my army days, and I can't think of a better way to wrap up this incredible journey.

BONUS TRACK- "Macross" by Makoto Fujiwara- One of the craziest moments of the pilgrimage was watching sumo wresting on TV, naked in a sauna, with a bunch of equally naked older Japanese dudes. This song goes out to all the crusty Japanese dudes I met in Shikoku. They truly are a bunch of manly dudes.

 

What I've Learned

The big wrap-up.

I write this post in the throes of the most brutal jet lag of my life. After finishing up the pilgrimage, I took a trip to Mt. Koya to visit the mausoleum of Kobo Daishi, and then shuffled back to Tokyo to take a flight that saw me return to the USA approximately 3 days before the flight took off. Since returning to America last Monday, I have settled into a 7am-1pm sleep schedule that will probably take weeks to break. After a brutal zombie period from 1pm to 4pm, I usually enter a totally unproductive period of consciousness from about 7pm to 3am. Welcome to the suck, as they say.

What an adventure. The biggest of my life. Bigger than climbing Mt. Fuji, bigger than my ill-conceived NY-and-back road trip, bigger than my periodic escapades to Enterprise, Alabama during my Army days. I saw more, experienced more, and learned more than I ever thought possible. My sister says that I found enlightenment! I wouldn't go that far, but the journey most certainly was illuminating. And what was illuminated, you ask? Allow me to list my revelations.

1. Kristine is the one. Kristine Sinajon is my fiancé, the woman I am going to marry in about 5 months. One of the most brutal moments of the pilgrimage was a dream I had where I took an early flight back to the US, stepped back into my house, and called up Kristine, who was doing laundry at her parents' house. "Hey babe, go back to the house, I've got a big surprise for you." While I was waiting for her to come home, I woke up to find myself alone in a dingy hotel room in some crummy Japanese port town. That was as tough a wake up as I've experienced since the Army. Me and Kristine fell in love through music, but the fact that she would stay by my side, even if I never touch the piano again, has taught me what real love means, and what it feels like. Her love is the greatest blessing of my life, and doing the pilgrimage made me appreciate that love like never before.

2. I'm not actually Buddhist! Lol, surprise. At the very least, I'm not an adherent of Shingon Buddhism, the esoteric sect of Buddhism founded by Kobo Daishi. My inner scientist just doesn't allow me to fully believe in a religion devoted to thousand-armed Boddhisatvas, hungry ghosts, and wrathful guardian gods. Don't get me wrong though; I have enormous respect for this Buddhist sect, and I am in awe of the faith and devotion of its adherents. More broadly, though I practice meditation for its physical and mental health benefits, I discovered, through the pilgrimage, that I just WANT too many things for me to be a true Buddhist. I want a wife. I want to make music. I want to work, and I want to make money, enough money to be comfortable in the place I want to live in more than anywhere in the world, the San Francisco Bay Area. That's a lot of wants for a religion founded on not wanting anything. In fact, in Buddhism, if you want enlightenment too badly, it will keep you from getting enlightenment!! What a crock of horse s***! So, no, I'm not actually a Buddhist. Despite that. . .

3. I believe in Kobo Daishi! Confused yet? Because I sure am. Through the trials and tribulations of the pilgrimage, I found out that I was just normal-old Christian, same as I always was. However, during my long walk, I really did feel the presence of Kobo Daishi. If I screwed up, he would punish me; if I asked for help, he would provide it. When I would cuss in one of my extended monologues designed to keep my own sanity, I would apologize to the staff. I even took home some mementos from the trail to bring part of the Kobo Daishi spirit back to San Bruno! (I figure that since Kobo Daishi is more of a friendly ghost, as opposed to an angry volcano god like Pele, I won't suffer the dreaded Hawaiian black sand curse.) On a less mumbo-jumbo wacky level, I feel enormous admiration for the way that Kobo Daishi lived his life, and enormous gratitude to his compassionate vision that has helped me and countless others find greater meaning and clarity in their lives through the 88 temple pilgrimage. I figure that if I think of him as a patron saint (patron saint of blisters and foot fungus?), I can jimmy him into my already jumbled belief system without too much trouble. I'd buy him a beer if I could! Or just a cup of barley tea; Buddhist monks don't get drunk, right? Except for Drunken Master, but that's something else entirely.

4. Forgiveness is my personal key to happiness. I laid this philosophy out in my previous blog entry, so just refer back to that for a full explanation. If you're not gonna live alone on top of a mountain, you gotta learn to forgive, because if you live in society among the people, people WILL screw up and hurt you. It is guaranteed, it is inevitable. There just isn't a way around it. So the key is to forgive. For me at least. Especially in the case of people you're never gonna see again, you gotta forgive them, because the longer you hate them, the longer you're just hurting yourself. This is a hard one, but I got time to practice it.

5. I'm turning into more of a people person. Even though I'm so jet-lagged that I can barely function, all I want to do right now is throw get-togethers and see all the people who helped me take this journey. This is way different from how I used to be. I would have much rather stayed home reading old entries in the rotten.com library on Friday night than go to a party, much less throw one. This transformation was beginning before the pilgrimage, and being forced to interact with people in a foreign language just to survive did even more to eradicate my shyness. In fact, I just hosted a thank you event/question and answer session with my primary investors (aka my parents) yesterday, and it was a smashing success! Looking forward to great things in the next quarter.

6. There's more than one way to make music. Pay attention, I'm about to go all SAT test on you. If Music = Art, and Art = Painting, doesn't that mean that Music = Painting? Sort of? Maybe that's wrong. Meh, whatever. Anyway, I found out that I'm interested not just in music, but art in general. Calligraphy, creative writing, photography, it's all got music in there. Or to be more accurate, all good art has tension and release. That's courtesy of my old SF State jazz theory teacher Mike Zisman. My decades of music making have given me an incredible foundation to branch out to almost any endeavor, creative or otherwise. I want to learn all kinds of stuff, from audio recording to video editing. Even figuring out how to cover next month's rent is an art! An art I desperately have to figure out, extremely quickly.

7. I might have to become a different type of musician. I was talking to my Uncle Ed from Monson, Massachusetts before I left. I told him I was doing the pilgrimage in order to help my tendons recover so that I could return to the piano. "But once you start playing again, won't you just get tendonitis again?" he asked. Huh, good point. Don't get me wrong, being able to play the piano again is my greatest life goal right now. But if I play music the way I did before, i.e. exhausting 3 hour gigs where I am overplaying with bad technique just to hear myself above an overcranked sound system, my tendonitis will indeed return in a matter of weeks. This means that, not only do I have to play music differently, I have to look at music in an entirely different light. My days as a workhorse gigging musician are most likely over forever. However, that means that when I play the piano, it's actually got to count. I have no choice now but to only play music that truly means something to me. No more drawn out KC and the Sunshine Band covers for drunk bridesmaids. When I play again, it has to be music that means something to me; songs by my friends, songs that I love, songs that I wrote. This probably means that I can't make a living as a purely gigging musician anymore. And guess what? I'm fine with that.

When I started developing symptoms of tendonitis, I began to dread the future. Every time I touched the piano, it was with the fear that I was digging myself into an ever-deeper hole, a hole that would inevitably end with my hands crippled. The only future I could conceive was that of an unemployable dropout living on government benefits on the margins of society. When I decided to quit the piano indefinitely, I finally started to look to the future with hope. Maybe I actually would be able to heal and lead a normal life. But now that I've done the pilgrimage, now that I have done something extraordinary, it makes me confident that I can strive for something a little more ambitious, a little more interesting than just a normal life. For the first time I can remember, my brain is overflowing with ideas, compositions, plans, schemes, and possibilities. The reason for this awakening is the pilgrimage.

And the reason I was able to make the pilgrimage was because of the support I received from friends, loved ones, acquaintances, long-lost relatives, and even people I have never even met before. Whether you supported me with a message, or a meal, or a financial contribution, or a cup of tea, or by reading this blog, or letting me stay at your house for a week (Auntie Emiko), let me just say Thank You once again. Thank You. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you, from the absolute bottom of my heart. Thank you for allowing me to make this journey, to go on this adventure, and to find knowledge and healing in ways I never could have imagined possible. In this moment, my heart overflows. I've never felt like this. I didn't know I could feel like this. Thank you, so much. And with that, the pilgrimage comes to a close.

NOT!!!!! The pilgrimage will continue! In different forms, in different places, and in different ways. Now that I've brought some of Kobo Daishi back to San Bruno, the Bay Area is officially Pilgrimage Territory. I got back just in time to see the Warriors win it all, so who knows? Maybe I brought some Kobo Daishi good luck back with me from Shikoku. For the indiegogo donors, watch your doorstep or mailbox for the thank you gift package, and always remember: though you may encounter enemies on your journey, remember to show them compassion and forgiveness; they too are trapped in the world of illusion, and they will one day, after 100,000 lifetimes, join you as brothers and sisters in the Pure Land of the Cosmic Buddha, Amida Nyorai. And as the Buddha always says. . .

You know why they hate us? Cause they ain't us.

Just kidding, I think Pauly D said that.

Thanks again, and I love all you guys!

Yours Truly,

Mark Tayag Davis
MTD

The Final Days: Part Final

In the actual last chapter, I get 2 parting gifts from the pilgrimage.

So I was feeling pretty good. Strolling down the road, whistling a tune like Mickey Mouse in Steamboat Willie. I got to temple #6, Anrakuji, where things started to go haywire on the first day. I bowed at the temple entrance like I had done almost a hundred times, went to wash my hands and mouth at the sacred fountain, and marched over to the main temple to offer my prayers. But then I noticed something to my side.

There was a huge Japanese garden, with a pond and fishes and everything! In my haste and agony on the first day, I didn't even notice it. I walked from path to path, leaping from rock to rock, said hi to a funny little girl and her grandpa feeding the koi fish. You know, this probably isn't the only thing I missed. I had been in such a mad rush to complete the pilgrimage, marching hard to knock out my daily 30km, that I had probably bypassed all kinds of cool things like this. But at least I had noticed this garden, right now. I went to the main temple and spat out the obligatory heart sutra, then went to the Kobo Daishi shrine to offer my sincere thanks to the Original Pilgrim, or O.P. I went back to the main hall to buy a crapload of souvenirs for the people at home and chatted with the ladies working the desk. "How was your time in Japan?" they asked. "I loved it," I sincerely answered. As thanks for my massive purchase, they gave me an astonishing gift.

It was a brocade ofuda, or thank you note, made of elaborately stiched cloth. The color of the ofuda changes depending on how many times you do the pilgrimage. 1-4 times warrants the plain white ofudas, 5-7 times gets green ones, 8-24 times is red, 25-49 times is silver, and 50 to 99 times is gold. If you do the pilgrimage 100 times or more, you gain the privilege of giving brocade ofudas to those who offer you assistance. This was one of those brocade ofudas. "Look at the back," said the temple ladies. There, on the back of the ofuda, was a stamp that said that one Chiyo Hanaoka, from Wakayama city, had completed the pilgrimage 297 times. My God. That is only possible by car, but even with a car that is an absolute minimum of 10 years doing the Shikoku pilgrimage. This is an ofuda from a person that has dedicated their life to this pilgrimage (and likely has plenty of money to finance such a quest.) It truly was an astonishing gift. I don't know if it was from the temple lady herself, or if she was giving it to me secondhand or thirdhand from the original owner, but I was speechless, so all I could say was "honto ni, arigato gozaimasu." Truly, thank you so much. "Ah, it's nothing," said the temple lady. I got on my way to temple #7, Jurakuji.

As I walked on the road, the disturbing incident with the innkeeper still weighed on my mind. Just to occupy myself, I tried reciting the heart sutra. The heart sutra is an interesting Buddhist tongue twister that is part John 3:16, part Our Father, and part psalm. I had said it at every temple for the last month and a half. But for some reason, I wanted to say a different prayer, one that was in my language, one that I knew well. So I started to say the good old Our Father. Hah, what is this, the Peanuts Christmas Special? But as I said it, something strange happened.

For the first time in my life, I meant every word of it. I paused after every line, meditating on the image that each line brought to my mind. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. The laws of Heaven, and God's ultimate plan, His strange and inscrutible plan for this world, a plan that seems to include equal parts horror and joy. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. There. That's it. That's the one. That's the key.

The key to happiness in Buddhism is to feel nothing. If you feel nothing, then nothing can truly hurt you. That simply isn't an option for me now. Not only am I unable to feel nothing, I don't WANT to feel nothing. I want to feel joy and happiness and love, but to open myself to that I will inevitably have to feel pain and rage and despair. But if I can forgive those who hurt me, then maybe there's a chance I can be a part of this world, and still be happy. People will hurt you. It is logically, statistically inevitable. So forgiveness is the key. I thought of the face of the innkeeper, twisted with anger. And when I thought about forgiveness, the word forgiveness, the concept of forgiveness, my rage at the man abated. Not completely, but significantly. And if I can forgive him, maybe I can forgive some of the others who have hurt me, who have left me with scars that will remain for the rest of my life. This is gonna take a lot of practice, because this is an entirely new concept to me. I've given lip service to forgiveness, but I had never really considered it the way I did in that moment, praying the Our Father on the other side of the planet. Kobo Daishi has shown me a lot of things in this month and a half, but this was the strangest, and most unexpected of the entire pilgrimage. All I could do, for the second time that day, was to thank God, and thank Kobo Daishi, and thank all the people back home who supported me, and thank all the people I had run into in these incredible 6 weeks. I walked on, past temple #7, which was closed, and finally got to the part of the trail I missed on that first day. I made my way through the rice fields, past a mother and her two kids, and followed the yellow signs back to the Okuda guesthouse. I knocked on the door.

"Mark-san! You surprised me! I thought you were gonna call!" said Mr. Okuda.
"Sorry about that," I replied, sheepishly. "I wanted to walk one more time."

 

The Final Days, Part 3: The Joy of the Pilgrimage

Elation and revelation back where it all began.

Friday, June 12th was the day of the asshole innkeeper, the day of the awful ligament, the day of the Deep Heat, and the day I made to temple 88. But that's not the end. You've got to go back to where you started to complete this thing, which for me was temple numero uno, Ryozenji, which in Japanese means Vulture Mountain Temple! How hardcore is that?

I woke up on Saturday, June 13th at around seven. Thank God for real hospitality. I could barely make a step without agonizing pain, so I got into Mr. Okuda's funny Japanese rectangular car and we drove to temple #3. Wait, what? It turns out this was to get a cool bonus calligraphy stamp that was done with like a Buddha sponge or something. It looks like the impact animation from Street Fighter 4, I love it. After that we went to temple #1, and I got the official, "You Did the Whole Damn Thing" stamp in my pilgrimage log book. Awesome. I said bye for the moment to Mr. Okuda and took the train to downtown Tokushima to do some blogging and get some lunch. (I also checked out the Tokushima Japanese garden, which turned out to be a stinky waste of time. At least it was only 50 cents to get in.) In theory I was done with everything, and all I had to do was call Mr. Okuda and tell him to pick me up at the Kamojima train station. But there was one loose end I wanted to tie up.

On the very first day of the pilgrimage, when I was weighed down by a comically bulging rucksack, I got lost when I was looking for the Okuda guesthouse and veered off the trail around temple #7. That first day was a brutal day of pain, confusion, and despair. I wanted to go back to the point where I lost the trail that day, and follow the correct path, just to see what I missed. I took the bus from Tokushima station with a motley crew of old ladies, mall girls, and one dutiful bus driver. I got off the bus near temple #6, Anrakuji, and started walking down the road. And then started to laugh hysterically.

Oh no, had I caught a rare case of pilgrimage hysteria? Maybe I had finally lost my mind. But as I calmed down a bit, my hysterical laughter mellowed into absurd bemusement. I just got done yesterday with walking several hundred miles on this God-forsaken island, and here I am again strolling down some narrow country road to another stupid temple! How ridiculous is this? I really am crazy. But I was smiling like a kid who just got out of class on the last day of school, and I couldn't wipe the expression off my face. The last time I felt this happy was on the crazy weekend when I decided to quit the piano and finally allow my tendons to heal naturally. Those four days were quite possibly the four best days of my entire life, filled with tears, music, and joy. Walking down the road to temple #6, I felt the same way. After all the pain and all the injuries, it turned out that deep down, I really loved walking to all these dusty old temples. And the reason was all of the people I had met.

I reflected on all the kindness and love people had shown me on the pilgrimage. The random people who gave me a mini-buddha statue, the funny old ladies I hitchhiked with who almost crashed into a rice ditch, Mr. Miyauchi from Yuki town who gave me some beautiful mini tatami mats. I also remembered the jerks I had encountered; the shoplady who kindly asked me to leave the store when I was soaking with rain, the innkeeper who locked a door in my face when he heard me speaking English, and of course the one-eyed asshole from yesterday. I thought of Auntie Emiko, who had been basically disowned by her family for raising a son alone, and yet still found joy in every day. The pain, the rage, the peace, and the joy of the last month and a half all seemed like complementary parts in a continuously shifting rubik's cube of causality. Each part had a function and led to the next action, each event propelled me to the next experience. It was ugly, and gaudy, and intricate, and it was a masterpiece. I thanked God for all the people who had helped me make this journey, and for everyone that helped me on the trail. But despite all that, there was still bitterness in my heart for the cruel innkeeper, and his crude and hurtful words.

But it turned out God had something for that too.

To be actually concluded in The Final Days: Part Final. (Heh, sounds like an awkward Engrish Japanese movie title.)

 

The Final Days, Part 2: Agony

 A new injury cripples my chances of finishing the pilgrimage.

Despite the shabby, borderline-racist treatment that morning, me and Barnaby soldiered on without incident. We hiked the 6 or 7 kilometers to temple 86, then made it to the Lawson convenience store to have some lunch. But things were already going wrong. First, it was already the hottest, most humid day yet of the entire pilgrimage, and we were dripping sweat. Second, a strange new pain was emerging on the front ligament of my left foot. It wasn't too bad, though. I'm sure that in a kilometer or two, I'll just walk it off.

It didn't work out that way. A kilometer or two down the road, the pain was so bad that I had to take a deep breath to prepare for every single step of my left foot. I think the strain was a result of me walking on my foot differently on account of my Athlete's Foot infection, and wear and tear from the mad dash I made up a mountain the previous day to get to temple 85 before it closed. Barnaby drifted away further and further into the distance as I grimaced with pain. But at the next traffic crossing, he noticed me lagging and waited up.

"Barnaby," I said, "this thing is killing me. You know, I'm probably just gonna take the bus. Screw it." I wanted so badly to finish the pilgrimage strong, to do all of the final prefecture on foot without resorting to transportation, and that goal was withering away before my eyes. "Yeah man, do whatever you have to," he said in his posh Aussie accent. "But first, let's take a breather over there." He walked, and I limped, over to a local shrine where we took off our packs. I took the menthol pain pad off my ligament, but before I put on a new one, Barnaby said, "Hey, maybe try some of this." He handed me a tube of something called Deep Heat. Oh no, is this a prelude to some naughty Thunder From Down Under hijinx? Nope, just the opposite; this stuff was the most agonizing concoction dreamed up by Australia since the invention of Vegemite. My foot tingled and burned as if I had just made it eat a habanero pepper. "Ghaaaaah, GHHHAAAGGH!" I screamed. "What the hell is this shit?! GHAAAH!" "Heh, that's the Deep Heat," replied Barnaby. "I guess if it burns bad enough, you just forget about the other pain." Haha, that's so stupid that I love it. That's Australian logic for you. And guess what? It worked.

But not that well. We got moving, but I still had to resort to a weird shuffle to move down the road. But the pain subsided enough that the remaining 10km to temple 88 were seeming possible now. We took a detour to the Henro Salon, a fun little roadside rest stop where we both got awesome pins and certificates for doing the pilgrimage on foot (or mostly on foot, in my case). And then the brutal climb up Mt. Nyotai began. The mighty dragon before rescuing the princess. Surely this would deal my wounded foot the final blow. Felled on the doorstep of glory, another casualty of the pilgrimage.

And then the pain just vanished. I think it was because going uphill worked different muscles and ligaments than walking on level pavement. Also, going uphill is my specialty. In the Army, they constantly train you to go up hills as fast as possible, since occupying the lower ground is a fatal tactical position. That kicked in, as well as a combination of second wind, adrenaline, and motivation of finally having the goal in sight. In fact, every 500 meters or so, I had to wait for Barnaby to haul his insane 10 kilogram backpack up the trail. But near the summit, that trail became ridiculous.

Most of the mountain climbing on the pilgrimage is in fact just mountain hiking, i.e. well-marked trails and stairs going uphill to a high altitude temple. But with the summit of Mt. Nyotai in sight, things became a little hardcore. The angle of the trail increased radically, and it became necessary to use all four limbs to pull myself from one foothold to another. This was legit mountain climbing. Heh, a nice final challenge before the final temple. A couple rocks, footholds, and scrambles later, and me and Barnaby were on the summit.

We looked out at the view. Damn, we had come a long way. In fact, due to the humidity, we couldn't even see where we had started that morning. We had literally marched on our own feet, and my crappy foot, from an entirely different horizon in order to climb the highest mountain in sight. The crudeness and rage of the innkeeper from that morning seemed like a week ago in that moment. We took some self-congratulatory pictures, went down the other side of the mountain, and I did my final prayers at temple 88, Okuboji. My buddy Okuda-san came to pick me up and drive back to the guesthouse, so I said bye to Barnaby, my partner in crime. On the drive back to the Okuda guesthouse, I felt not joy, but relief. It was over. Thank God it was over.

But it wasn't over. You still have to go back to the temple you started at, which for me was temple #1, Ryozenji. (Barnaby started at temple #18 for some weird Commonwealth reason.) And it was on the journey back to the beginning that I rediscovered the joy of the pilgrimage, as well as a couple other things about myself that I never would have guessed in a thousand years.

To be concluded in Part 3.

 

The Final Days, Part 1: Shikoku's Biggest Asshole

What happens when a quest for peace almost devolves into a shoving match?

Thursday, June 11th was a rough day. It started with a 12 kilometer trek to temple 83 in a misty rain, and ended with two seperate mountains in the midst of a watery deluge. By the end of the day, me and Barnaby were soaked and exhausted. Our first choice for lodging had apparently been abandoned by its owners, so we had a convenience store lady call another place for us. We thanked her and trudged thanklessly back down the mountain to the Takayanagi Ryokan, our home for the night.

The owner seemed a little weird from the get go. Slightly ascerbic and sporting a dead eye, he asked me and Barnaby personal questions about our religion, and whether or not we wanted seperate rooms. I confirmed that we did, and he seemed relieved. Was he trying to screen out gay couples or something? But beyond that, everything seemed fine. I confirmed that we didn't need in-house meals, and said that we would probably try to leave by 6am. We tended to our wounds, the nice lady who co-runs the guesthouse drew a nice bath for us, and we had dinner at a gorgeous udon restaurant. Me and the Aussie meandered back to the guesthouse, and plopped to sleep.

I dragged myself out of bed around 630am to drop the kids off at the pool and brush my teeth. However, mid-brush, the owner stormed up to me, apparently furious. "YOU LIED! UNNACCEPTABLE! YOU SAID YOU WOULD LEAVE BY 6," he shouted in Japanese. What the fuck is going on?!? I was taken aback. I've sort of skirted around the rules at previous guesthouses, but I had never experienced this sort of treatment, even back when I was in the Army and people had an excuse to hate me. The owner's tirade continued in broken English. "IN 2 MONTHS, 2 HOTELS, CLOSE! YOU NO BREAKFAST?!? THIS IS BED AND BREAKFAST, BUT YOU NO BREAKFAST!" He rushed over to Barnaby's room, rattled the door, and screamed in English, "GET OUT! GET OUT!" Had I wandered into opposite day, where Japanese people exchange their kindness and politeness for shrill fury?

Looking back on this incident, there were 3 reasons that we incurred the innkeeper's wrath. First, we called ahead in the afternoon, as opposed to the day before. Second, we decided not to have meals there, which may have offended his sensibilities. Third, we were late getting out of bed. In addition, he appeared distraught over what I assume were the shuttering of some other lodging houses in the area. But as we hurried out the door, he said something so hurtful that it made me want to give him a good shove through one of those beautiful Japanese paper screen doors. "Your religion, Islam? Catholic?" he asked. I responded that I am a Christian, to which he answered, "Buddhist only."

Was he refering to his establishment, or trying to make some crude commentary about the 88 temple pilgrimage as a whole? I suppressed my urge to punch him in his ugly face, and said in simple Japanese, "I am leaving." As me and Barnaby walked out the door, he motioned that he had change. "Keep it," I shouted in English. We marched down the road in shock and anger, and then the strangest thing of all happened. The one-eyed innkeeper drove up and gave us our change, along with my toothbrush and toothpaste that I had left in my haste. I dutifully accepted it, and he drove away. Was he expressing regret, or did he just want to have the last word? I guess I'll never know.

From his broken comments about two hotels closing, I can assume that he was in some sort of financial distress. I mean, who isn't, in rural, working-poor Shikoku? And who knows how he lost his eye. Maybe a bar fight with some dickhead American GI. And the weird questions? Maybe some foreigners had made a mess of his place in the past. There must be reasons for his rage. I tried to justify our treatment in my mind.

But I couldn't. On the day I was to walk to temple 88, the first emotions I felt that day were panic, shame, and rage. There was no justification for what he had done. A one-eyed piece of shit had ruined the last day of the pilgrimage, and the only emotion I could feel was burning, bitter hatred.

And the day was about to get worse.

 

Shikoku Personality Profile: Emon Saburo

A rich man redeemed.

In Buddhism, there are 5 deadly sins. These are, in no particular order:
1. Killing your father. When daddy died, all he left us was alone.
2. Killing your mother. Not the momma!
3. Creating a schism in the Buddhist community. This has actually happened like dozens of times now, so maybe this one isn't so bad.
4. Killing an arhat. Arhats are basically sages that meditate in caves or under waterfalls and seek enlightenment for themselves. Though lacking in the compassion that is an essential trait of truly enlightened buddhas, they are still highly revered and respected by the buddhist community. So don't kill them! Why would you? They're just minding their own business on top of a mountain somewhere.
5. Injuring a Buddha. Fully enlightened Buddhas can't easily be harmed; their incredible insight lets them see danger from miles away, and their all-encompassing compassion disarms most assailants anyway. For those who nevertheless succeed in harming a Buddha, the karmic consequences instantly condemn the assailant to Naraku, the Buddhist hell, in the next life. Devadatta, the Buddhist version of Judas, incredibly managed to knock out sins #3-#5, and his awful karma was so tainted that Hell opened up right at his feet, and he plunged into the horrible depths for the next 47 quintillion years. But what happens if you hurt an arhat, or a Boddhisatva, aka almost-buddhas? Is that just as bad as hurting a Buddha? Not quite, but the consequences are still severe. Just ask Emon Saburo.

The richest man in Shikoku, Emon Saburo was petty and cruel. One day he heard a traveling monk outside his door begging for alms. "Get lost," he shouted, and the monk went on his way. But the next day, the monk was there again. "What the heck did I tell you yesterday?" Emon screamed. "Earn your own damn money, like I did, you damn beggar!" The monk again departed. However, the monk kept returning every day for the rest of the week, and each time Emon shooed him away. On the eighth day, Emon had enough of the holy man. He smacked the monk's begging bowl out of his hand, and it shattered on the pavement. "Got the message now, baldy? Go back to your temple, freeloader!" The monk looked at the broken bowl without anger, and walked away into the night. "Finally, some peace and quiet," huffed Emon. He slammed the door and went back to his estate. Problem solved.

But the next day, horrifying news arrived. Emon's youngest son, the baby of his eight children, had died in the night of a mysterious illness. Emon was wracked with grief. But his agony had just begun. Over the next seven days, one by one, his other seven sons perished, each stricken with an unidentifiable sickness. Eight strong sons now occupied eight awful coffins.

"Oh my God." 

Emon finally put 4 and 4 together. There was word of a traveling monk who, after meditating in the wilderness, had attained enlightenment and was traveling from place to place, begging for alms and performing miracles for the faithful. But for those who shunned the monk, strange calamities befell them. What would happen if one shunned this man not once, but eight times? "That monk. . .I've gotta find him. Whatever it takes."

Emon Saburo set out on the Shikoku pilgrimage. He walked from town to town, as fast as he could, in desperate pursuit of the monk. Humbled by his suffering, Emon sought not revenge, but redemption. If he could apologize and attain the monk's forgiveness, maybe a holy man of such power could undo the loss of his sons. But everywhere he went, he seemed to be an hour, a day, a week too late. But he didn't give up. Over the course of a decade, he circled Shikoku dozens of times, but to no avail. The monk was always just out of sight. But Emon got an idea. "I got it! I'll go backwards! There's no way I'll miss him now!" But this too failed. Nevertheless, Emon refused to stop. While climbing the mountain trail to the twelfth temple, Shosanji, Emon collapsed in the snow, dying and frostbitten. But right as his life was about to end, the monk appeared. "Emon Saburo," said the monk. "You used your money only to enrich yourself, while beggars starved and holy men withered in the cold. If you had another chance, what would you do?" Between labored breaths, the shivering Emon said, "I would rebuild the city temple. Holy men could study and preach there, the poor could have a meal and seek respite from the cold. The cold. . . . .I never imagined it could be this cold." The monk nodded. "Emon Saburo, by your hand you harmed the Boddhisatva Kukai, who will one day be known as Kobo Daishi. This is a grave sin. However, your desire for repentance is real, and thus, your karma has been returned to equilibrium. You have earned a second chance. You will reincarnate not as a mindless animal or a vengeful ghost, but as a human once again. Pursue not wealth and earthly pleasures, but enlightenment for yourself and those around you. Be at peace, Emon Saburo." Tears frozen on his icy cheeks, Emon reached out for the monk to thank him, but his strength finally failed. Emon's hand fell and rested on a stone as he died peacefully in the snow.

Years later, in the prosperous house of Saburo, a baby was born with a small pebble in his hand. The pebble was inscribed a name: Emon Saburo. The boy grew up and used his family's wealth to restore the local temple, a temple which is today known as Ishiteji, or Temple of the Stone Hand. The temple remains one of the most popular in Shikoku, and the pebble is enshrined within the temple grounds.

So remember- if a monk shows up at your door begging for alms, please, for the love of God, don't hit the guy!!! Or else you'll have to walk around Shikoku the rest of your life. Could be worse, but once was enough for me.

Probably.