It was sad to leave my beautiful room in Akita yesterday night, only to find myself sleeping in a little wooden box in Tokyo the next night. It was to be a comfortable wooden box, nonetheless, and a good capsule hotel. But still. As I left behind the rice fields of the north for the crowded cities of Tokyo once more, I felt a longing to go back. I never thought that I would fall in love with that little place so much in such a short time. The staff at the Onsen were amazing, even though I could not speak Japanese, and the baths were so relaxing. I promised myself that I would do it again. But before I left, I needed to do one thing, the whole reason why I even spent a night in Akita: my pilgrimage to Seitai Hoshikai, or Our Lady of Akita. It’s a Japanese style catholic church situated in the forests of Akita, and it was only a 45 minute walk from my hotel. I say only 45 minutes, but that’s an amount of time that can seem awfully long in the rain. I went for my morning bath, packed my belongings early. I tried to busy myself and pass the time, but whenever I checked on the weather I could see that the rain still hadn’t let up. I could not wait any longer. I checked out, stored my luggage with the reception staff, borrowed an umbrella and set off.
The rain started off light, and my bag wasn’t getting so wet… but after a while it began to strengthen. Soon enough, I was stopped at a traffic light, and I felt like Totoro in the rain. Although I am not quite as fluffy. This theme song played over and over in my mind as I walked on, desperately trying to distract myself from the risk of my socks getting wet (one of my biggest pet peeves). I crossed small puddles, and big ones too, and several times I almost slid and fell over in the mud. Most of it was easy, however I got to a point where I needed to walk up a hill. Something that reminded me of my days in Ireland. No footpath, but water cascading down as a result of drains blocked by fallen branches. Well, I had to do this. So I marched right up the hill, and tip toed where the water was deeper. I passed rice paddies and greenhouses filled with fruits. Akita is not only a land of rice but it is also famous for its fruit, particularly its grapes. I got to see people working the land first hand. Soon enough, the steepness of the hill started to ease and I walked passed a Buddhist Temple. Only a few more minutes, then I’d be there. I started to see the familiar design of a stations of the cross walk, through the middle of a manicured and vast garden. The rain stopped, and I was able to walk at an easier pace. Finally, I saw it. A beautiful, simple building. If you saw it from the outside, you would not believe that it was Christian.
The façade seemed distinctly Japanese. A curved roof sheltered the first floor, a gable roof framed the top floor. It formed a “resting hill” as many roofs in East Asia do, and sloped forward gently, forming two layers that appeared to be scooping upwards. Wood panels, black tiles, white walls, subtly decorated by glass with latticed woodwork superimposed. The carvings were simple, elegant and peaceful. I arrived a little early, so I decided to roam around the garden. As I did, I noticed that many, many yellow black dragon flies began to dance around me. The only thing disturbing the peace and quiet of The Garden of Mary were the nuns working to maintain their grounds, the little stones shifting noisily under their boots. The garden was beautiful, green and dark red from the trees, a solid statue of Mary standing proudly on a large stone in the middle of a shallow pond. Eventually, I sat down at a bench and started to eat some food I’d brought with me and a can of coffee. The time passed quickly, as I looked out and enjoyed the quiet. It startled me a little when I heard the sound of a window sliding open and a nun poked her head out… open now she waved at the front door and I thanked her before she disappeared again.
I walked inside, and I wasn’t the only one. Another Japanese girl met me at the front door, and we both walked in together. In typical Japanese style, I saw a wall of slippers to my right and guessed that I needed to take my shoes off. The wooden floor in front of me looked polished, smooth honey gold and the last thing I wanted to do was drape mud all over it. A staff member provided me with my slippers happily, and I started to walk around. In a word, it was exquisite. I always find religious architecture so awe inspiring. The amount of work, love and detail that goes into it reminds me of what we can achieve when we realise that we are not alone – there is a higher power out there helping us along. But this one wasn’t ornate, as I had seen in churches in Europe. Or rather, it was ornate in a different way. Each of the three walls surrounding the church were shoji sliding doors, slightly opened to let in the breeze and give glimpse of the Japanese gardens that surrounded the building. One statue of Jesus at the cross, and another where he is robed and hands in prayer. Most importantly the statue of Our Lady of Akita – Saint Mary. All were wooden, all intricately carved. On the ceiling, I saw carvings of grapes, at the side of each bench was engraved a cross. Even the altar table legs were carved on one side of grapes and on the other, stalks of rice. This was very much a treasure which belonged to Akita.
The statue of Mary sat to the side. She wore a long robe, which appeared to be of Japanese style, her hair was out and her feet were bare. She wore a veil, and her arms extended, outstretched. Simple and elegant, it was this statue which spoke to a nun, Sister Agnes Katsuko Sasagawa in 1973. She had what Catholics call a Marian apparition, or a miraculous appearance of the Virgin Mary. Prior to this apparition, she was suffering from several health conditions including deafness. After this moment, her condition improved and she later regained her hearing permanently. She also received a message which resonates the most for me these days, and there are many interpretations but here’s mine: stay present. Everything you need is right in front of you, and after the nostalgia of longing for the past wears off, there is only pain. After the rush of running towards the future tires you, there is only exhaustion. When I think about all that I have learned in the last decade of my life, I can only say that these words are true for me. Although these may not be the exact words that were delivered to Sister Sasagawa, it is the essence of this message which resonates. And the strange thing is this, that being in the present is always an exercise in remembering. It’s never a matter of seeking, finding, keeping, catching… it’s always about remembering. And it’s more simple than any ritual in the world could be.
But still, I said my prayer, I took my time and I left. I took off again, back down the hill to the rainy rice fields beneath towards the hotel to collect my luggage. As I walked, I felt a great sense of gratitude. We experience life in shades and textures, variations on the same theme. Different ways to experience who we are at any given moment. As the years go by, I realise that it is only important to be authentic with yourself. That’s really what it means to be in the present. If we don’t feel well, and we admit and accept that about ourselves, then it makes it easier to drop the feeling and move onto the next present moment. We don’t always need to feel good. Like the rain agitates and stirs stagnant water, sometimes we need a few tears to breathe some life back into the numbness of our routines. Sometimes we need the rain to help us move with more power. Sometimes we need the rain in order to share our magic, like a cascade of water flowing down a steep slope. Soon enough, I started to feel grateful for the rain. I think feeling grateful isn’t about feeling happy, but is about recognising the purpose of something and acknowledging that it has its own special place in your life story. One of the unique present moments in your life, precious in its own way.
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