Day 5, Echoing the craftsmanship of Ise Jingu this morning

 

shaping chopsticks, then burning a pattern in the wood

Saturday morning we set off for the outskirts of Ise by bus, accompanied by several members of the international exchange volunteers to make something compact, functional, and with a bit of beauty - at least in the eye of the beholder. We sanded, shaped, and burned patterns or words into our very own chopsticks. Coming a day after a field trip to the Sengu-kan at the Outer Shrine, where refined work of weaving, forging, gilding, joinery, and so many other forms of skilled craft are documented, our own efforts were so much more modest. However, by sharing in something enjoyable together, it was easy to exchange experiences and ideas freely, getting to know each other a little better.

The weather was brilliant blue skies with strong gusts of wind on and off. So after the group dispersed at the station near the hotel it was a good chance to walk around the city center in search of the Ise city library. A helpful staff member there kindly showed some of the collections of photo postcards from 100 or more years ago, as well as maps and other illustrations of the city in earlier generations.

bike shelter in front of the Ise library on Saturday afternoon

Looking at old photos, or looking for traces of older times in the buildings and land in the city and outside the city, it becomes clear that people come and go generation after generation, but the land often stays the same. And so do the kami. Ise residents and pilgrims coming to visit saw similar mountains and rivers 500 years ago to those contours we see today. And long after we are gone, still the rivers will flow and the shape of the mountains in winter or summer will go on something like today, too. But in the relationship of living people of this moment and the kami of the place, sometimes a natural disaster may destroy a location, or villages may become abandoned, or the political events may force mergers of the earlier shrine sites. In that case, what becomes of kami when no person is left to pay respects to them? In other words, in the absence of people to express respect, mend the roof, and provide for the services of religious experts, can kami persist in some way? Clever logic and rational wrestling may offer up some clues, but probably there is no way to know the answers to such questions. Related, and maybe more practical, is to ask about places that are the opposite of kami-friendly, sacred-feeling situations. 

 Impressive natural features like mountains, boulders, moving or still water, massive trees and so on attract people's attention and can elicit some reverent awe. But the wabi-sabi feelings of this video clip in this winter afternoon sun on the quiet neighborhood houses seems to be an un-Shinto situation: not a place of power and possibility, but a case of dissipating creative energy. 

In conclusion, there are a number of things abhorrent or incompatible with Shinto's love of sincere uprightness, purity of heart, and absence of impurity. Those things could be called anti-Shinto. But now looking at the atmosphere of this video clip, perhaps places in this light present a kind of "least" Shinto; the opposite of the "maximum" Shinto concentrated at worship sites governed by human routines or ones "in the wild" that persist with or without people being involved (Niagara Falls could be an example in North America, for instance). If all this logic is true, then the cultural and natural landscape can include situations that are maximum, minimum, and also ones that are anti-Shinto. Looking at things this way, the daily route one takes could touch all these conditions; the Way of Kami is not restricted to days when rituals are performed, matsuri are held, or sampai (paying respects) is offered inside the boundaries of sacred spaces.