Tag Archives: Kannon

Hell and High Slaughter

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My plan today was a visit to Ukiha Inari Shrine, a remote shrine with a hillside vista over the Chikogu Plains that offer stunning views of red torii gates and the meadows beyond. However, as I finally arrive at Tosu Station to switch trains, I find that my next train, the Yufu 3 Limited Express bound for Beppu, doesn’t depart for another six hours, so in desperate need of a plan, and a sudden change of itinerary, I rush onto a random train bound for Kurume.

Kurume is a small city in Fukuoka Prefecture. I flip a coin to let fate decide my direction, but woefully fail to catch the coin and it lands in the gutter of a drain. Today isn’t going very well and it’s still morning. I choose to go south. It doesn’t take long for my optimism to return though, for in the distance standing tall and proud, a mysterious white statue captures my attention, and essentially my destination decides on itself.

The statue can be seen from far and wide, and as I finally get close enough, it turns out to not be what I first thought, but instead a 62-metre tall statue of Kannon, the Goddess of Mercy. I always enjoy a good Kannon statue, not only does she save the souls of the suffering, but there’s often something rather unexpected to see.

The first thing that’s a little unusual is the 38-metre tall structure next to the Goddess. This replica of India’s Mahabodhi Temple, the Great Awakening Temple, is the first of its kind in Japan, and is based on the story that Buddha sat under a tree in India for seven days to meditate, became awakened, and then the original temple was built to honour that event. Why there is such a replica here in Kurume I have no idea. Also, and it may be a matter of perspective, but the Mahabodhi Temple is 24-metres shorter than Kannon, however, at every angle, the temple seems to tower over the Goddess.

As I approach the ticket office to enter Daihonzan Naritasan Kurume Temple, I inadvertently wake up a young Japanese woman; obviously this place doesn’t get a lot of visitors despite its massive car park that boasts space for 700 vehicles.

I take a seat on a small stone bench for a time, admiring the statue and contemplating, just like Buddha had once done. A statue of Ebisu disturbs my thinking, purely because he’s sitting on a cow next to a big pile of money. Distracted, I walk around the temple grounds, here there are numerous smaller statues depicting twisted souls in anguish.

I notice a shaft in the side of the Kannon statue, and decide to enter. Endless corridors greet me. Random artwork lines the walls, steep steps twist and turn through the statue, there is no elevator, and the climb to the top takes an age. From the top there are tiny windows that offer a nice view of the city below.

After admiring the landscape, I decide it’s probably time to leave now, and as I climb back down to the ground floor, I notice steps leading deeper down into a basement. As I further approach, I hear the creaky voices of evil spirits echoing down the lonely hall. A room here is marked either side by a pillar of skull heads. Inside are some lifeless effigies, but as I approach, I activate a sensor of sorts, and the first model begins to move.

This animatronic demon is sawing a naked man in half; the saw slides back and forth for as long as I watch. The man, despite his obvious injury is still alive, his screams are piercing and chilling, the sound effects of the saw all adding to the macabre scene. An absolute show of horror.

I move through the exhibits. A woman surrounded by spike traps gives me a jump scare as she screams into life. Two children covered in bruises and blood rotate on a platform as a demon with a sinister grin watches on. A man holding a huge boulder is about to smash in the head of a woman whilst a giant towers above. A chained up man is having a red-hot poker stuffed into his mouth.

I decide that this is one of the most harrowing things I’ve seen in my whole life. The passable realism of the statues blending with the authentic yet disturbing sound effects really adds to the eeriness evoked by this imagery. It seems that hidden beneath this innocent looking statue of the Goddess Kannon holding a baby, is a secret haunted house.

I take one last walk through what I learn to be the Hell Museum, before leaving the basement, the statue, and stepping quietly past the ticket gate as to not wake up the sleeping woman.

As I walk away, I look back at the statue, its phallic shape from behind visible for miles and miles, it makes me wonder if it was indeed designed that way, or just a misshaped mishap. I guess I’ll never know.

The Time Traveler’s Strife

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Today, I decide to explore the Asakusa area once again. Recently, I engaged in a conversation with friends about Denbou-in Gardens, the secret gardens I visited, hidden in the grounds of Senso-ji Temple. Intrigued to discover more about this area and its hidden gems, I then heard a mention of the interestingly named Drawing Light Temple. Obviously, I wanted to find out more. In the blazing sunshine, I head to Asakusa once again and search for the temple.

It takes me about thirty minutes to wander through the huge complex of temples and shrines that make up the Senso-ji compound before I eventually find a rather obscure-looking tunnel with overhanging plants and nondescript flowers. Oddly, I have never seen this tunnel before, so for the second time in just over a fortnight, I have stumbled upon a new place in Tokyo, a city I have lived in for eight months now. Hidden beyond the foliage, on the other side of the tunnel, sits the impressive Drawing Light Temple.

lightdrawing

Built in 1609, this temple houses the goddess of protection from drawing light images. Fortunately, an English sign serves to remove any confusion and informs me that, “The Goddess in this temple protects against photography, portraits, and reflections.” Ironically, photography is allowed here. As I read the signboards about the history of this place, it becomes instantly apparent that if this temple was built in 1609, as the sign states, then it precedes the very first photograph, making it impossible for the goddess that resides here to know what she would be protecting against. It reminds me of the Flying God Temple, where people go to pray before they fly on an aircraft. The god there existed before aircraft were even invented. Even the story about the origin of Senso-ji, concerning the golden statue of Kannon fished from a lake, is riddled with confusion; the statue is no longer housed in Senso-ji Temple, and has never actually been seen by anyone who can prove it existed in the first place.

The inconsistencies and inaccuracies in religious narratives make me increasingly sceptical. Considering the possibility that religious stories and certain deities might be nothing more than fabrications is a notion I had never entertained before, but it now begins to take shape in my mind. What if it’s all untrue? I ponder this for a moment, and then, quite unexpectedly, I spot a magical cow.

magcow

“Look closely,” says a sign next to the cow. I stare at the cow, not really sure what I am supposed to be seeing. Everything here looks perfectly normal – just a statue of a cow. Below the sign, there is a description in Japanese, which later translates to read, “As a way to protect the stolen soul, in the cow, your image will be hidden from the drawing of light.” I take a photograph of the cow, and oddly, my image isn’t present. Very strange. I take seven more photographs from various angles, yet each time, the scenery behind me is visible, but my own reflection is mysteriously erased.

Why a cow has been chosen to symbolise the absence of reflection is beyond me, but some sort of wizardry is at hand here – a trick of light, perhaps. Continuing my exploration of this hidden temple, I discover that it holds the origin of the story that a photograph can steal your soul. It was said that when this temple was built before photographs were invented, the thought of an image of a person being taken was a direct link to the spiritual world. This history has also spread to the rest of the Senso-ji area, where no mirrors can be seen at any of the temples or shrines. It makes me wonder if the Edo Period in Japan was populated by time travellers, building temples everywhere that predict future inventions.

As I leave the Drawing Light Temple, I continue my exploration of the nearby area and discover another display of inconsistent historical information.

stonelantern

The Stone Lantern of Rokujizo was built in either 1146, 1150, or 1368, and already I find that there are too many contradictions. The sign even states that the details are unknown. Yet, the lantern itself features topography that wasn’t used until 1834. So somehow, the lantern features Japanese text that was first used 688 years, 684 years, or 466 years after it was originally built. My suspicions surrounding the history behind Senso-ji Temple are once again confirmed here.

I continue my tour and find a monument to Kume no Heinai. He was a samurai in the Edo Period and a master of sword fighting. Over the years, he killed many people before eventually turning to a life of virtue. Heinai began to live in Kongo-in Temple, inside Senso-ji Temple, and devoted himself to Zen Buddhism. He held religious services in honour of the souls of the people he killed. One day, he ordered his followers to carve his figure in stone and bury it in a busy district of Asakusa, so that forever, people would step on him—presumably what he thought he deserved after years of killing. Oddly, Heinai was in good health the day the statue was ordered to be built; however, the next day, he died suddenly, as if his fate was already known.

My final stop is the peculiarly named, Bell of Time.

belloftime

This innocent looking bell housed in a wooden structure, to the untrained eye, wouldn’t be significant. To my overactive imagination, this confirms my earlier suspicions that religion, or at least the area around Senso-ji Temple, was built by time travellers, and this bell was their time machine. Obviously, time travellers building temples sounds ridiculous, although the evidence is definitely here. If this isn’t the case though, then perhaps instead, religion is being used to make money here; exploiting the beliefs of innocent people, and making this area more attractive to tourists. It does seem from my brief attempt at investigating the area, that most of the information I have discovered is based entirely on lies.

A Streetcar, Feigned Desire

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I decide that despite the warm weather today, it would be a nice idea to explore the area around my own neighbourhood on foot, rather than heading further afield by bicycle. Looking at the map outside of my apartment, I notice a few points of interest that I had never previously given much thought. The first is the Toden Arakawa Streetcar, the last remaining streetcar that still operates in Tokyo. I wander five minutes from my home in that direction. As I approach, I follow the sound of silent electricity until I arrive at the tracks.

At the streetcar depot, nobody is waiting to ride. The only sign of life here, other than the movement of old trams, is a superabundance of starving pigeons waiting for their next meal. Opened in 1913, this streetcar somehow survived when all other streetcars were scrapped in Japan some fifty years ago. I consider taking the tram, but because there is no official timetable, I fear that if I do, I will end up in the middle of nowhere, with no way of getting back. Instead, I try to photograph this historic vehicle, but a blur of pigeon rudely interrupts my photography.

streetcar

My next stop is at the nearby Jokan-ji Temple, a historical site and cultural asset of Arakawa. It becomes apparent as I enter the temple grounds that this temple contains some rather dark history. The temple dates back to 1665, and with such close proximity to the nearby Yoshiwara red-light district, it became known to the locals as the throw-away temple. A place to dispose of unclaimed or discarded deceased prostitutes.

The temple itself looks like any other temple, but beyond the shiny temple walls is a memorial to the unknown dead and a hidden entrance that leads into a vast cemetery.

prostitutetemple

The 1854 Tokai earthquake claimed many lives, including young women who had been sold by their parents to the Yoshiwara district. These prostitutes were often forced into this trade, considering themselves as living in hell, destined to eventually die and join the other women in a mass grave at Jokan-ji Temple. The deceased women were not granted a proper funeral or burial; instead, they were wrapped in a straw mat and left outside the temple gates for someone else to collect, burn, and add to the pile of death and ash.

I stroll through the cemetery, and it becomes evident where the souls of the twenty-five thousand deceased prostitutes are laid to rest. A small tomb is adorned with artefacts related to prostitution. An inscription above the tomb reads, “Birth is pain, death is Jokan-ji.” Cosmetic products, hair clips, and makeup rest on top, leaving a haunting reminder of death. It is even possible to peer inside the tomb through an overly exposed metal grate, offering no dignity to the departed. Inside, a stacked pile of white urns extends down into oblivion.

cosmeticgrave

I depart from the tomb with mixed feelings. I question why I even visited here; perhaps I should have simply boarded the streetcar and escaped the sense of doom and gloom. Another notable presence is a monument dedicated to the novelist Kafu Nagai, who used these deceased women as a source for his satire. I ponder on the motivations of someone writing about such a macabre subject, only to realise that, in my own way, I am no different as I pen down these words.

I depart from Jokan-ji Temple and start walking toward Minami-Senju, an area my friends have deemed extremely dangerous. As I approach, it appears to be like any other place I’ve visited in Tokyo: a Seven Eleven, a few shrines, a clean park, an old woman feeding a cat, bullet holes, a train station … Bullet holes?

bullettemple

Entsu-ji Temple stands tall, featuring a twelve-metre-tall golden statue of Kannon. What is remarkable about this temple is that it proudly serves as the new location for the Black Gate. Kuromon was previously the gate at the entrance to Akizuki Castle, but after a gunfight during the Battle of Ueno, the gate was damaged, explaining the bullet holes. The gate was moved to this location in 1907. Not one to dwell on death and misery, I leave the temple in a rush and forget to take a photograph of the famous Black Gate.

I head back in the direction of Minowa, and with prostitution on my mind, I take a stroll through the Yoshiwara area. What always strikes me as odd about Yoshiwara is that at one entrance to the legalised brothel district is a police station, and at the other end, there is a shrine that houses a goddess that offers protection to women.

yoshiwarashrine

Every day, when a prostitute finishes her shift, she will walk past this shrine and bow deeply. I have seen it so many times, due to this shrine being on my route from my home to Asakusa. In fact, I pass this shrine twice a day, and almost always see women here, praying, bowing, and hoping to not share the same fate as those other twenty-five thousand abandoned dead women.