Crafting the Story of a Place: Omairi

Platform 12:  Waiting on the train to Ise-shi.

This week in my Comics and the Visual Narrative class, we finished our silent comic challenge.  In the silent comic, you may use no words (not language or sound effects) and must convey the meaning of the story through gestures, facial expressions, and body language alone.  I went through many ideas, but something that stuck with me was the idea of a story of a place and how that place can weave people into merging and diverging tales.

This idea has resonated with me since I traveled to Japan.  I think, that often the United States feels so new that as a culture we miss that places cultivate different patterns of behavior in us.  I think, often enough, there is a lack of the truly "sacred space"  and place so old and monumental you feel humbled simply by being there.  There are few places here that give the average population chills--few places that inspire silence.

The ticket from Nagoya to Ise-shi.

Ise-shi both village and city.

 The two shrines at Ise, Naiku and Geku, are such a place that exists in Japan.  The shrine grounds are among the oldest in the country.  When I lived in Kasugai (near Nagoya), I was determined to go there, as it is a short trip.  I went with my friends, Nathaniel Ekoniak and Yoshinori Uchizawa.  You have to take a special line to get to Ise-shi (the city where the shrine is located.  This immediately begins to weave a story for travelers, as on these trains are a mixture of tourists and pilgrims.  I was stuck in between the two, as I am obvious American, but I deeply respect and appreciate participating in omairi (a traditional shrine visit).  However, at the time, I knew very little about shrines so very much appeared the awkward tourist. 

The entrance to the shrine grounds.

 Ise-shi is a surprise to anyone who has never been there before.  It is just off the coast of Japan, in Mie Prefecture, with several large rivers around it.  It is a bustling city, filled with trucks, sheet metal, and uneven brick.  The streets are lined with shops for omiyage (souvenirs) selling mostly food items.  It is a tradition in Japan to bring family and friends home these kinds of food gifts, so this is an important business for the city.  It actually shocked me how lackluster the city seemed--it was quite coastal and as usual in Japan, I was surprised at the amount of metal doors, walls, and roofs.  In the United States, this would be associated with urban areas of poverty, but time and time again I would encounter it in friendly areas of Japan.

Chrysanthemums are present everywhere.

 We walked through this maze of metal and trucks, to suddenly arrive at green trees and wooden lanterns. This is the beginning of the shrine grounds, which are the size of some state parks in the United States.  There is a large park area with a traditional Japanese garden outside.  As we passed through the entrance to the shrine grounds, the city fell forgotten behind us.

Within steps of entering the shrine we are greeted with chrysanthemums.  The heavy, large blooms were throughout the shrine, and it astounded me how lovely they grew in November.  We don't grow mums like these often in the United States yet they seemed to be a hobby in the Nagoya area.  I had believed that the designs on kimono were exaggerated until I saw these lovely blooms. By and large, they seemed far less interesting to the Japanese.  Funny how a place speaks differently to you depending on why you visit.

Before entering a shrine there is ritual handwashing.

The size of Ise torii gates are humbling.

From the brightness of the mums, I became overtly aware of the solemnity and sanctity of the shrine grounds.  Tucked in at the edge of the shrine, is where each visitor should conduct temizu 手水 (ritual hand washing, called a temizuya.  To conduct this ritual, the individual washes their left hand, then their right hand, then their mouth (with water from the left hand).  I have heard it said, then the left hand must be washed again, but I have gathered this tradition varies.  Sometimes the feet are washed as well.  Purification is an important part of the Shinto tradition.

Upon entering the shrine you encounter these massive torii gates.  Unlike many other shrines, the gates are bare wood, not painted red.  I find it interesting that this most sacred shrine to the sun goddess is actually the most natural looking.  Many other shrines contain richly carved buildings and bright paintings. Ise is stoic.

So are the size of the sacred trees.

It is okay to take photos before entering inner torii gates.

And the trees ... they are ancient, huge, and untouchable.  The trees are only harvested to ritually rebuild the honden every 20 years.  You can feel the age and the sacredness.  The trees reach to the heavens that you cannot see for the leaves, cathedral like columns of a living temple.

I took many pictures during my walk in these woods--and this is okay as you are not yet passed the interior torii that signify the gods' house (rather than the ground of the gods).

Just outside an actual shrine.

The actual shrine is forbidden to photograph (though I am sure many rude tourists try).  Like the rest of Ise, this is simple, natural.  The thatched roof of the shrine and torii gate are covered in moss.  It lends beauty--and the acknowledgement that there is sanctity in nature.

Many families brought chidren to Ise.

I actually saw many children around the shrine at this point.  Some were infants on their first visit.  Others had come for shichi-go-san (their 3-5-7 visit).  Boys visit the shrine at 5.  Girls at 3 or 7.  Many people, but especially the old an young, wore traditional Japanese dress.

As you can see, the shrines at Ise are rich with the stories of people who visit them and the actions particular to the shrine.  This is something I tried to capture when I wrote Omairi, while still telling a human tale.  Please enjoy the comic here:  OMAIRI

Ascending to the gate, near the end of the visit.