I woke up at 4:15 without an alarm and did some Sun Salutations as the dark sky turned a pale blue. Sunday was the day of the main event of the workshop: Nyūbū, entry into the sacred mountain.
After breakfast we changed into our shiroshōzoku, white ritual attire, and gathered our things. White is the color in which the dead are clothed at funerals; entering the mountain, which was believed to be the realm from which humans are born and to which the souls of the Dead return, is a process of death and rebirth.
As we waited for the bus that would carry us to the trailhead, I remembered a song from the Sacred Harp tradition of the American South called "Idumea." I tapped my kongōzue, pilgrimage staff, on the ryokan flagstones and softly sang the first verses to myself:
"And am I born to die,
to lay this body down?
And shall my trembling spirit fly
into a world unknown?
A land of mist and shade
unpierced by human thought,
the dreary regions of the Dead
where all things are forgot."
Since Mt. Ōmine itself is unfortunately still closed to women for the time being, the ladies of our group waved us off as we boarded the bus and made our way toward the mountain. Pale gray clouds shrouded the mountain from view and spit slender raindrops on us as we passed over the bridge that marks the boundary between the mundane world and the takai, or Otherworld, of the mountain. I blew my horagai as we passed through the gate infamously engraved with the characters for "No Girls Allowed," and with that our journey began.
Hōryū-sensei wisely instructed us to walk with enough space between us that we could fully appreciate our surroundings. In spite of its holiness, Ōmine's forest has not been spared the fate that most mountains in Japan share, that of being unscrupulously logged and haphazardly replanted with timber plantations, in this case Cryptomeria. Such forests have a very peculiar feel to them. The lack of plant diversity means there's not much for animals to eat, and thus they are deadly quiet. The patter of our jika-tabi on the wet trail, the jingle of Shakujō and the tinkling of sensei's bear bell, the drip of rain, the sound of running water were all to be heard for much of the climb.
The mountain walks of Shugendō are often referred to as "ugokuzen," or moving meditation. True to my experience with meditation, at first my mind wandered furiously. Gradually, though, my mind quieted down and I became more aware of the boulders and trees along the trail, the worms that squirmed gleefully in the rain, the fungi taking advantage of the moisture to reproduce.
Based on images of Zaō Gongen, the incarnation of the mountain first perceived by En no Gyōja, I think I expected a more obvious sense of presence and raw masculine power climbing Ōmine. What I experienced in reality was not too different from other mountains: a combination of deep stability, threatening wildness, and deep indifference to my presence.
The practices we carry out on Ōmine's surface are powerful exactly because of these qualities. Shugendō is the intentional entry into a perilous world that is beyond the human, one from which return is by no means guaranteed. The mountain is the matrix on which this world exists. Occasional statues that marked the place where someone had died climbing the mountain proclaimed this fact.
In the past the dangers of the mountain were much more pronounced than they are now. The trail up the mountain was well-maintained, and with a little care we were able to hike up without eating shit on the slippery rocks that carried us toward the summit. We passed a source of water called the Water of Help where yamabushi have stopped to drink for centuries.
We paused to chant prayers at several shrines to En no Gyōja on the way up, and then stopped for a break at a rest house where groups meet the Gyōba Sendatsu, professional guides who lead people through the upper training sites of the mountain. A large statue of Fudō Myō-Ō kept a watchful gaze on the large building where we met our guide. With the two other first-timers and I at the front of the line, we made our way up wooden steps slick with moss and rain. The sendatsu led us in a simple call-and-response chant as we climbed.
Zange zange!
Repent, repent!
Rokkon shōjō!
Purify your consciousness and senses!
Ōyama wa shōjō!
The Great Mountain is pure!
Rokkon shōjō!
Purify your consciousness and senses!
I hadn't heard the line about the mountain until then, and the depth it adds to the sentiment sent a shiver down my spine. My throat is still sore from the chanting.
We soon arrived at the first of the mountain's three gyōba, the Kane-Kake Iwa, a 10-meter cliff face that rose ominously from the fog above us. Another group slowly ascended the rock above us as the rain began to fall harder. They looked like moths climbing a window screen. They graciously allowed us three newcomers to pass them and make our way up the rock. Even with the sendatsu's patient guidance, finding the slim footholds in the rain left my heart pounding, but I made it safely to the top after my comrades.
From there we walked to the second gyōba, Nishi no Nozoki, the Western Insight. This is a ledge at the top of a 60 meter cliff. In the past, yamabushi groups would toss those who had sickened or been severely injured off the cliff rather than leaving them to die on the mountain. The gyōba sendatsu and Hōryū-sensei chained themselves to rocks on either side of the ledge and the sendatsu produced a harness of thick rope for the first of our members to put on like a backpack. The sendatsu then told him to get out and hang over the ledge. The sendatsu admonished him in fast Japanese, so I only caught a little of what he said, but the gist was to be a good boy and change his life for the better.
Soon it was my turn. The guy ahead of me grinned as he handed me the harness, a total change from the grim expression with which he'd put it on. The sendatsu told me to push myself out onto the rock like Superman. I didn't hear whether he said that to the non-American guys but I got the idea. The sendatsu grabbed my ankles and pushed me down further off the ledge until I was staring into nothing but 60 meters of fog. I'm not good with heights, so there was nothing I could do to convince my poor brain that I wasn't going to die. I tried to just be present to the experience. I didn't catch much of what the sendatsu said. I replied with a high pitched "Got it!" when he asked if I understood. As he had with the others, he dropped me down a few inches further off the cliff and shook me a bit for good measure, and I clenched my muscles to avoid pissing my white trousers
I came up off the rock mostly feeling shaken and confused, and I ate my lunch in stunned silence after we prayed at the final shrine to En no Gyōja near the mountaintop. While I understood I'd just had a profound experience, I'll admit that I didn't get much from the admonishments even when I listened to what the sendatsu was saying later on video. It's mostly about being a good boy by normal social standards, being nice to your mom and dad, working hard, and so on. The same list Santa Claus makes. I found myself wondering why the hell I'd just done such a stupid thing if it was all about conforming to mundane social standards that I believe to be deeply dysfunctional. Was that the only "insight" that Nishi no Nozoki had to offer?
The rain got harder and harder until the word came down that we would not be able to do the third and most dangerous gyōba, Byōdo Iwa, the Rock of Equality. I was a little disappointed, but I wasn't surprised by the news. One of our group members has been to Ōmine four times and still hasn't had a chance to traverse the gyōba's narrow ledge. Fingers crossed for next year.
A single long growl of thunder greeted us as we ascended the final steps to pray at the summit temple. I wondered if it was a welcome call from Zaō Gongen. I couldn't stop thinking about Nishi no Nozoki. I'm sure more insights about the Insight from the West will come to me over time, but here's what came to me as we walked back down the trail. The stability of the ground is something I didn't even know I took for granted until I was dangled off that cliff. After hours experiencing the stalwart solidity of the mountain underfoot, to be forced to stare into the void was a powerful shock to my system.
Every day I walk around taking the fact of being alive for granted. I'm only 27 years old, and my experience of reality in this body seems as stable as the mountain. But this is an illusion. Even in its prime my body is a fragile thing, and there will be a sudden stop at the end of the story of my life, a jarring departure from myself as I think myself to be. What seems stable and consistent gives way to the unknown, to death. Nishi no Nozoki is, I think, a preparation for this experience. I am deeply grateful to have had such a radical confrontation with reality.
It's interesting from a magical perspective that after death at the Western Insight comes the "weighing" of the soul on the Rock of Equality, a motif that appears in mythology around the world and features heavily in the system of magic I practice. I guess my time to be weighed is yet to come.
We returned to the trail entrance to find the women of our group waiting for us, waving and smiling after having completed their own ascent of another holy mountain in the area. I hope one day soon that we will all come down from Ōmine together. I blew my horagai one last time as the others passed through the gate, and then we all crossed the bridge back into the living world.