願った

(please excuse the sudden serious nature of this post!)

願 - wish

Nearly six years ago was the last time I went to Japan, and obviously it left a pretty hefty impression. The awe that is so many stereotypes coming to life before your eyes, so many quirks that should be ridiculous but that soon become nearly essential features of daily life, these are the kind of things that stay with you even when you go without them for so very long. But in returning to Tokyo there was something on our itinerary that I knew would bring everything back in one moment, that I knew would mean more to me than I could ever hope to explain to anyone else, words failing me when normally they're the closest friends I could ever have.

As someone with a definite and possibly surprising sense of spirituality, I really enjoy visiting shrines and temples. Sometimes you can take long enough to read the inscriptions and you realise why the shrine was built, you like the person it was dedicated to, sometimes it works the other way and you're filled with the sudden urge to turn your back and leave. Sometimes you don't read their stories and you just feel the atmosphere of a nation who, regardless of glowing skyscrapers and heated toilet seats, are inherently spiritual themselves. A sense of reverence and respect, or a thousand glittering prayers in the air, apparent to the most insensitive.

Meiji shrine is arguably the most famous shrine in Tokyo, if not all of Japan, and is therefore teeming with visitors at all hours. In addition to this it is a mere five-ten minute walk from Harajuku, Tokyo's capital of bright colours and youth culture (and teams of dancing Elvises every Sunday). It seems unfathomable that a place of calm and serenity can exist in such an environment. But it does.



The sounds of traffic and neon advertistments are soon replaced with footsteps on thin gravel and streams running under bridges, the lights and flashing signs making way for much more peaceful rows of trees which I have best heard described as somewhat solemn. It's true, there is solemnity in the air, and I remembered it so well.

On this trip so far I have been to new places, and of course I have returned to Tokyo, but this was the first time I have returned to one specific place. Leaving Harajuku station it was like muscle memory, following long-known unchanging paths that run through a city that never stays still. Maybe ten minutes but a pilgrimage nonetheless, and with every step I made a silent apology or a silent thank you for everything good and bad since the last time I had been there. We walked through the same gates, across the same gravel, over the same bridge. I washed my hands and drank from the same water stand, and walked through to the shrine itself. Taking as much time as I could to take the whole experience in I took a deep breath and stepped forward, cast in coins and asked to be heard. I clapped twice and voiced my prayers, stood long enough to feel it echo around with those around me.

I walked away, feeling like I'm ready to start this whole ridiculous journey as a new person. It felt good.

The last time I went there was 2172 days ago. On that day I spoke a prayer for Japan to stay gold, and I tied up a wish that I would someday come back to that spot (it's ok to tell wishes when they come true, right?).

I know now that I'm welcome here.

- 88
- who shall shortly resume regular posting!