Large cedar trees towered overhead, their trunks, tough, solid structures that have stood the test of time. The fallen leaves created a carpet on the floor like a beautiful woven rug. The wind blew and the leaves rustled, resulting in more cascading onto the ground, reforming the existing tapestry of colours and textures. With every footstep and every crunch of the leaf litter beneath my feet, I perambulated towards Okusha (main) shrine, tugged deep inside, into the forest of cedar trees flanking both sides with the autumn foliage drawing me in with extending arms. When the mist settled in, it felt like the shrine shrouded with mystery, hidden so that it could be discovered by trekkers and worshippers. I passed several torii gates, adorned with shimenawa (しめ縄), made of straw ropes and white zigzag paper streamers, shide(四手)hanging on them. Some cedar trees had shimenawa circled around their trunks, dressed like princes of the forests. According to Shinto beliefs, these trees are seen as deities, protecting the forest and its surroundings. Maple trees dotting each corner embellished the landscape as I inched another stone step closer to the shrine. I stopped at the temizuya (手水や), a water fountain. I am reminded of the one in Zenkoji temple situated in the heart of Nagano city, along Chuo dori, with the kanji '心洗' deeply carved at the temizuya. The word '心' refers to the heart and '洗' essentially means 'wash'. The words struck a familiar chord and served as a reminder to wash my heart, mind and soul before entering the shrine. I feel like an empty teacup at the temizuya, waiting to fill myself up while unloading before feeling pure and whole again. At each temizuya, there are bamboo ladles placed for people to go through the whole methodical process of rinsing their bodies and souls before entering the shrine. I did it so clumsily while trying to figure out the steps - cleanse the left hand first then the right hand, rinse the mouth and then finally the ladle handle with water running down vertically. I tossed a coin into the shaisenbako, bowed twice, clapped my hands together twice and then bowed once more (commonly referred to ‘nirei nihakushu ichirei’) before making a silent prayer.
I descended the steps from Okusha, feeling more refreshed than ever. The light filtered in through the canopy while I strolled past the maple and the cedar trees, illuminating the dense undergrowth of the forest and people with blissful faces. Serenity at its fullest. My heart is full again.
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