belief in Japan
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-seven years and one million words
Without knowing a thing about the religion, it would seem I've becom a practising Shintoist.
I've been pretty much going through the motions of visits to shrines whenever I'm told it's expected. Defaulted into it when I married in this country, I suppose. Come to think of it, default is pretty much the entry route for the billions of people born to religious families.
My new religion has had considerable influence on determining my activities this year.
For instance, New Year's day. I wanted to go back to the "haunted" former pig farm near Mari's parents' place to take some more twilight pics. But my ghost story from the previous day convinced my wife that I shouldn't come back lest a ghost come back "on my shoulder". Ooookidokie. So instead I climbed the rickety road that had led me to the orange grove that morning, and just kept going until I ran out of road. I was well up on the side of the valley at that point, and the view was rather good. Following the crown of the hill through an abandoned grove to its rambling terminus, I noticed that there was only a thin fringe of trees between the grove and what looked like a promising view of the upper valley. The bit beyond the rice paddies and houses, where I've never been. I crashed through the mix of underbrush, bamboo and skinny trees to get around to the view up the valley. My urban suede jacket took a beating but did a fine job of keeping me from being gored by some of the sharp spears of bamboo.
In the end, I found my view partially obscured. Immediately in front of me was an unnatural drop-off evidentally caused by heavy erosion following deforestation. Halfway down the hillside, many tall trees had been planted in uniform fashion, all with the same spacing, age and species. They were fast growing conifers that had few branches until the top where they blossomed into identical thick bushes of needles.
I noticed that it was 17:30, and that the light would now be fading fast, so I crashed my way through the brush again and started back. I hadn't gone far when I heard the distant k-chu of a shotgun blast. Realizing that my dark brown suede and shaggy toque weren't the best at distinguishing me from a wild boar, I began singing nonsense lyrics at high volume.
All in all, a very different 90 minutes from what I'd planned.
Then there was today. We wound up taking in some of the annual University marathon that passes by our area because we'd been to the hill-top Shinagawa temple to greet the new year. I now know the routine for praying at a Shinto shrine (and how that differs from praying at a Buddhist temple), and do daft things like buying good luck charms for business and family. This year, our business is watched over by a ¥1000 charm made of wood and paint. Our return route was the same road as the marathon, so naturally we waited around until the lead runner came by.
So that's how local customs and beliefs are influencing my lives. Fewer haunted pig farms, more hilltops and shrines. More clapping and bowing, and more pretending to be brush an invisible ghost from my shoulder to tease my wife.
Hey, now when filling in forms, I can put "Shinto" in that little "Religion" box where I've always been putting "none".