Issue nº 10

On the road to Kumano - continued

     (In the last issue, I spoke of my visit to the road to Kumano, in Japan, where I discovered that there is a spiritual practice during the pilgrimage, called Shugendo. If you didn't read the first part, go to On the road to Kumano - I .

Leaning upon the tree
      - Have you ever heard of Shugendo? I was told it is a relationship of love and pain with nature - I said to a biologist Katsura introduced me to, and with whom I was now walking in the mountains.
     - Shugendo means: "the way of the art of accumulating experience" - he replied, revealing that his interests go beyond the variety of insects in the region - By disciplining one's body to accept everything nature has to offer; in this way you will also educate your soul for that which God has to offer. Look around you: nature is a woman, and like all women, she teaches us in a different way. Lean your spine up against that tree.
     He point to a two thousand year-old cedar, with a thick rope lying around it. In the local religion, everything which is circled by a rope is a special manifestation of the Goddess of Creation, and is considered a sacred place.
     - Everything living contains energy, and this energy communicates. If you put your spine against the trunk, the spirit which inhabits the tree will talk to your spirit, and calm it of any affliction. Of course, as a biologist, I would say that the giving off of heat, etc... but I also know there is truth in the magic explanation of my forefathers.
     My eyes are closed, and I try to imagine the sap climbing from the roots right up into the leaves, and in making this movement, causing a wave of energy affecting all around.
     I hear the biologist's voice telling me that, in the year 1185, two Samurai warriors fought a fierce battle for power in Japan. The governor of Kumano didn't know who would win; certain that nature always has an answer, he had seven roosters dressed in red, fight against another seven dressed in white. Those in white won, the governor supported one of the warriors, and made the right choice: before long, that Samurai governed the country.
     - Now tell me: do you prefer to believe that it was the governor's support which decided the fight, or were the roosters, representing nature, a divine sign showing who would end up conquering power?
     - I believe in signs - I answered, mentally leaving my comfortable vegetal state, and opening my eyes.
     - The sacred journeys to Kumano began long before Buddhism was introduced in Japan; to this day there are men and women who pass on, from generation to generation, the idea that a "marriage" with everything around one must be like a true matrimony: with giving, joy, suffering, but always together. They used Shugendo to reach this total giving, without fear.
     - Could you teach me a Shugendo exercise? The only one I know is to tie oneself to a rope and throw oneself against the rocks of a cliff side; frankly, I haven't the courage for that.
     - Why do you wish to learn?
     - Because I always believed that the spiritual doesn't necessarily involve sacrifice and pain. But, as someone I met on this journey said, one must learn what is necessary, not what one wishes.
     - Each of us does the exercise which Earth asks of us; I know a man who climbed and descended, a thousand times, for a thousand days, a mountain near here. If the Goddess wants you to practice Shugendo, she will tell you what to do.
     He was right. The next day, it came about.

The limit of pain
     We are on the top of a mountain, beside a stone column with some inscriptions. From high up, I can make out a temple in the middle of the forest.
     - That is one of the three sanctuaries the pilgrim must visit, and when he arrives here, he feels great joy at already being so close to one of them - says Katsura. - According to tradition, no woman may go beyond this point during her menstrual period. One time, a poet came this far, saw the temple, but because of her menstruation, could not go on. She understood that she would not have the strength to go four days without eating, and decided to return without reaching her objective. She wrote a poem of thanks for the days spent walking, got ready to return the following morning, and went to sleep.
     "The Goddess then appeared in her dreams. She said she may go on, because her verses were beautiful; as you can see, fine words can even make the Gods change their opinion. The stone column bears the poem she wrote."
     Katsura and I set out on the five kilometers which separate us from the temple. Suddenly I recall the words of the biologist I met: "If the Goddess wants you to practice Shugendo, the way of the art of accumulating experience, she will tell you what to do."
     - I shall remove my shoes - I tell Katsura.
     The ground is rocky, and bitterly cold, but Shugendo is the communion with nature in all its aspects, including that of physical pain. Katsura also removes her shoes; we set out.
     The first step I take, a pointed rock pierces my foot, and I feel the deep gash. I stifle a cry, and continue. Ten minutes later I am walking at half the speed when we set out, my feet hurting more and more, and for a moment I think about how far I still have to travel, that I may get an infection, that my publishers await me in Tokyo, all the interviews and meetings which have been arranged. But the pain quickly pushes back these thoughts, I decide to take another step, and another, and to continue for as long as possible. I think about the many pilgrims who have come here practicing Shugendo, without eating for many weeks, without sleeping for many days. But the pain will not allow me to think profane or noble thoughts - it is simply pain, occupying all space, frightening me, forcing me to think of my limit, and that I won't succeed.
     Nevertheless, I can take another step, and another. The pain now seems to invade my soul, and weakens me spiritually, for I am not able to do that which many people have done before me. It is physical and spiritual pain at the same time, it doesn't seem like a marriage with Mother Earth, but rather a punishment. I am disorientated, do not exchange a single word with Katsura, all that exists in my universe is the pain of treading on the small, sharp rocks of the path leading through the trees.
     Then a very strange thing happens: my suffering is so great that, in a defense mechanism, I seem to float above myself, and ignore that which I am feeling. At the far boundary of pain there is a door to another level of consciousness, and there is no longer room for anything else but nature and myself.
     Now I no longer feel pain, am in a lethargic state, my feet continue to follow the path automatically, and I understand that the boundary of pain is not my limit; I can go beyond. I think of all those who suffer without wishing it, and I feel ridiculous flagellating myself like this, but I have learned to live like this - trying out the majority of things before me.
     When we finally stop, I take the courage to look at my feet, to see the open wounds. The pain, which was hidden, returns again with force; I consider the journey over now, I will not be able to walk for many days. Imagine my surprise when, the following day, everything has healed; Mother Earth knows how to take care of her children.
     And the wounds go beyond the physical body; many wounds which had opened up on my soul were expelled by the pain I felt as I walked along the road to Kumano towards a temple who's name escapes me. Certain suffering can only be forgotten when we manage to float above our pain.

The monk and the message
      We are in a private part of a Buddhist temple. We can hear a monk singing, praying out loud, playing a percussion instrument. I recall the other times I practiced Shugendo during the previous days: walking with no coat in sub-zero temperatures, staying awake for a whole night, keeping my forehead pressed against the rough bark of a tree, until the pain managed to anesthetize its own self.
     During the whole journey, people said the monk now facing me and reciting prayers, is the greatest Shugendo specialist in the region. I try to concentrate, but eagerly await the end of the ceremony. From there we go to another building, from which I can make out a giant waterfall flowing down the mountain - 134 meters tall, the highest in Japan.
     To my surprise (and to all those present), the monk is holding three books written by me, and asks me to autograph them. I take the opportunity to ask him for permission to record our conversation. The monk, who never stops smiling, says yes.
     - Was it the hardships on the road to Kumano which created Shugendo?
     - It was necessary to understand the nature which forced man to dominate pain and go beyond his limits. One thousand three hundred years ago, a monk who had difficulties concentrating discovered that weariness and overcoming physical obstacles can help one meditate. The monk walked the road until his death, climbing and descending mountains, staying out in the snow without warm clothes, entering the waterfall every day in order to meditate. Since he became an illuminated man, people decided to follow his example.
     - Is Shugendo a Buddhist practice?
     - No. It is a series of exercises of physical resistance, which help the soul walk together with the body.
     - If one could sum up what Shugendo and the road to Kumano mean, in one sentence, what would that sentence be?
     - Those who do physical exercise, gain spiritual experience, provided their minds are fixed on God while making the highest demands on their bodies.
     - Up to what point is physical pain important?
     - It has a limit. Once the threshold of pain is crossed, the spirit is strengthened. The desires of everyday life lose their meaning, and man is purified. Suffering comes from desire, not from pain.
     The monk smiles, asks whether I'd like to see the waterfall close up - and with that I understand that our conversation is over. Before leaving, he turns to me:
     - Do not forget: seek to win all your battles, including those you fight against yourself. Do not fear the scars. Do not be afraid of victory.
     The following day, as I am about the embark, Katsura - the young 29 year-old woman who has been with me since my first day in Kumano - shows up at the airport and hands me a small manuscript written in Japanese, with some historical facts about Kumano. I lower my head and ask her to bless me. She doesn't hesitate for one second: she says a few words in Japanese, and when I look up, I see on her face the smile of a young woman who chose to be a guide on a road no one knows, who learned to dominate a pain which not everyone senses, and who understands that the path is taken by walking, and not by thinking about it.