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.)
Reminds me of an old song I always loved, written by Bob Dylan and first performed by The Band."Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble. Ancient footprints are everywhere, You can almost think that you're seeing double, On a cold, dark night on the Spanish Stairs."
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