The Back Gate to Iwayaji in Japan hidden in a forest forgotten by the modern world.

I’m not the type of person to have favorites. Whether they are movies, places, people, authors or anything else. My tastes and my boredom levels change too quickly to push any one place above another. But when I was asked by the Lonely Planet Blogsherpa Carnival to write about my favorite place in the world, I knew immediately where it was, the back side of Iwayaji Temple on Shikoku Japan.

A Little Background

Iwayaji Temple is the 45th temple on the Pilgrimage to the 88 Buddhist Temples of Shikoku, located in Ehime Prefecture. The pilgrimage, covering 1,200-1,400 kilometers depending on who you believe, is Japan’s most famous and visited pilgrimage. Still going strong after more than 1,000 years, legend attributes the pilgrimage to the founder of Shingon Buddhism, Kobo Daishi who was born and gained enlightenment on the Island of Shikoku. Not satisfied with just enlightenment, he also created the Japanese kana writing system, visited China, and hobnobbed with royalty. Trust me, that’s a lot back in the 8th Century.

The real development of the pilgrimage is more complicated as it evolved after Kobo Daishi’s death and his followers tried to retrace in his physical and mental footstep. More traditional localized holy sites, complete with mountain ascetics  (yamabushi) and Shinto shamans, where incorporated into the larger pilgrimage that rings the island of Shikoku and passes though 4 of the most remote and untouched prefectures in Japan.

Beautiful Buddha Statues line the path. The smaller Jizo statues are the most popular Bodhisattva statue in Japan and grace tens of thousands of roads as Jizo-san is said to help and protect travelers.

Legend says the location was donated to Kobo Daishi  by a mysterious female recluse named Hokke-Sennin. He built the temple on the mountain, considered a holy place by those seeking enlightenment in the cliff’s caves, and carved and enshrined a Buddha image deep in a cave so that the whole mountain would be worshiped.

Still with me? Here’s why…

Mystical shrine surrounded by enormous trees.

Shikoku (and the pilgrimage) is one of my favorite places in the world, but its the path behind the Iwayaji Temple that holds the coveted number 1 in my heart. Every year about 150,000 people make the pilgrimage and probably countless more visit Iwayaji as a stand alone temple. However, most of those making the journey to this remote mountain temple built into a spectacular cliff arrive by car, bus or bike.  They park their cars and walk the steep stone steps to the front cliff and main temple along a beautiful river. What they don’t usually see is the beauty that lies behind the temple.

There is a second way to approach the temple along the ancient walking pilgrim route that crests the mountain behind the temple. The trail delivers the walker from a pristine wooded ridge line path into an ancient moss green forest with enormous cypress trees and age worn shrines and religious carvings. The forest is dark, damp and its enormity and silence creates an atmosphere were a Buddha or Shinto god could easily pop out from behind the next corner. It is also along this path that I came to a sudden realization about my life, where I want to be and what I love to do. This journey, my second walking pilgrimage around Shikoku, is the topic of my current book project on the Shikoku Pilgrimage and how my current lifestyle began (feel free to spread the word) .

Not a week goes by that I don’t think about the path leading to Temple 45 and the effect it’s had on my life. I dream of going back, if for nothing more than to spend some time in that magical forest empty of humanity but full of gods, demons, enlightenment and bright green moss.

I know, its a beautiful path...that's what I've been trying to tell you!

What is your favorite place? Describe what you love about it and let us know how to get there!

This post is part of the Lonely Planet BlogSherpa Travel Blog Carnival hosted this time by Sophie over at Sophies’s World. The Carnival is hosted every two weeks by a BlogSherpa member. The topic this time is Your Favorite Place. I hosted one here earlier on Todd’s Wanderings about Travel Safety.

Iwayaji Temple Japan- My Favorite Place in the World is a post from: Todd's Wanderings

Jofukuji Temple, Shikoku Japan

So desperate to be different and yet still fit into a group. (Image courtesy of Royalt)

Japan is full of secrets hidden in plain view. To the casual observer Japan is a conservative and reserved society. Even those “breaking” with conformity tend to gather together and dress alike. But as most Japan insiders know, scratch the surface just a little and shocking secrets can come to light.

I discovered one such secret while visiting a rural Japanese Buddhist temple on the island of Shikoku. While walking the Shikoku Pilgrimage, a 900 mile route which hits 88 Buddhist temples, I stopped for a rest at a simple mountain village temple in Ehime Prefecture. Sitting between Temples 65 and 66, Jofuku-ji Tsubaki-do, is an unassuming and polite temple. Precise cedar beams mirror the thoughtful manicured garden as every detail of the clean temple grounds  was carefully planned out.  Japanese temples are wonderful places that incorporate the the more mundane concerns of folk religion right alongside the loftier goals of enlightenment.

WARNING: if you’re a statue or a doll below the age of 18 the following content may not be  suitable.

As I prayed at the temple steps in front of a golden statue of the Buddha I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched. Turning around I found four impeccably dressed statues starting at me.

She was looking as modest as can be, but with a curious knee poking out to the side.

Just your average conservative Japanese couple right? But what is the guy to the left doing?

I looked around to make sure I was alone. I didn’t want to be caught lifting the skirts off of statues after all, talk about an embarrassing conversation to have with a monk. The humid summer day ensured I was the only person crazy enough to be outside at mid-day, so I lifted away and here is their secret.

Fertility statues. Quite the pair, and pointed directly at the temple housing the main Buddha image!

Not so conservative after all...

Fertility and babies were a major preoccupation in historical Japan when the society was based around rice cultivation. As the fertility rates in the cities have plummeted, in recent years population grow has been negative, perhaps there is a lesson to be learned from rural Japan. At the very least it is great that there is such a wonderful sense of humor about the subject.

Feel free to comment and/or leave stories of shocking statues you have found in Japan.

April Japan Blog Matsuri, hosted by www.gakuranman.com

Sexual Secrets of a Japanese Buddhist Temple is a post from: Todd's Wanderings

Deep rumbling chants rolled out of the cedar temple, pushed by the rhythmic precision of the perfectly timed drums, as the Buddhist monk led the daily dawn service. The morning air was crisp and carried the scent of pine and earth from the remote Japanese mountaintop. Prayer beads wrapped around my left hand, 108 plastic balls reminding me of my earthly sins, I knelt Japanese style in a dimly lit temple wondering if feeling would ever return to my feet. Gold ringlets hung from the ceiling, radiating above a thousand armed statue of the Bodhisattva of Compassion sitting directly in front of me.

One hour later, my prayers were answered. The monk concluded the ceremony and encouraged us to relax our legs before he spoke about the Buddha’s teachings. Sighs of restrained relief and pain filled the dim temple as seven Japanese pilgrims sitting on either side of me shifted their legs on age golden straw tatami mats.

The Buddhist monk, dressed in flowing purple, orange and vermilion colored robes bowed his shaved head and said in impeccably polite Japanese, “Welcome to Senyu-ji, The Temple of the Hermit in Seclusion.”

“Where have you travel from?” he inquired of everyone. He quickly put everyone at ease by commenting on each hometown and making short conversation. However, he only nodded when I mentioned I was from the USA.

Pleasantries dispensed with, he began.

“I hate America,” he intoned, letting the force of his words pound into the still air.

“If it wasn’t for America the world would be at peace. America has ruined all chance for peace in the 21st Century,” the monk preached into an increasingly silent room.

I heard every eye turn towards me. The temple’s intricately crafted joints creaked and moaned as the harmony, so valued in Japanese society, raced out the sliding wooden shoji doors.

Twenty days earlier, I arrived on Shikoku, the smallest of Japan’s four main islands, and home to the country’s most popular pilgrimage route. For over a thousand years, henro (pilgrims) have visited 88 Buddhist temples that ring the island, traveling in the footsteps of Kobo Daishi, the founder of Shingon Buddhism. Born on Shikoku in 774 AD, he wandered the island performing acetic rituals, leaving a steady stream of miracles in his wake.

Each year only one percent of pilgrims (out of an estimated 100,000-150,000 henro who perform the route by bus, car, train or bicycle) actually walk the 750-mile route. They hike footpaths that plunge deep into isolated mountains, through villages dominated by evergreens and rice paddies, and along a weather beaten coastline assaulted by frequent typhoon. Dressed in road worn white, they peer out from under conical straw hats that protect from sun and rain. Bell topped staffs steady their tired bodies as they transform Shikoku into a constantly moving human prayer wheel.

A pilgrim reaching the top of the long steep path to Senyuji

Like millions of pilgrims who came before me, I climbed the worn mountain path to Temple 58, Senyuji, on the 19th day of my pilgrimage. Clinging to the top of a mountain The Temple of the Hermit in Seclusion affords sweeping views of the Inland Sea below. A lazy summer breeze wound its way through the meticulously sculpted temple grounds as I sat under the large iron bell waiting for my breath to return.

The Inland Sea

I chanted Buddhist sutras, and received a smoothly inked kanji (Chinese character) and a vermilion stamp in my pilgrim’s book as proof of my visit. When the book is complete and filled with all 88 temple kanji I will be guaranteed to enter nirvana upon my death. Who else can claim they ensured their eternal salvation over a summer vacation? I was ready to move to the next temple when a short bald man, his face crinkled in a perpetual childlike smile with clothes deeply soiled by the earth, caught my eye.

“Would you like to stay and help me with my work?” asked Mukai-san, the temple’s groundskeeper.

Mukai-san

Taken aback by such directness, but infected by a smile that split his face in half and swallowed his eyes, I agreed to stay and help. Replacing my walking staff with a shovel and hoe, I spent a long but gratifying day under the hot sun helping to build a traditional forge for sword making.

The next morning everything changed as the old groundskeeper sat behind the monk and beat the drum that penetrated my soul. The Bodhisattva of Compassion looked over all of us.

“I don’t hate Americans, only your country and what it represents,” the monk continued into the awkward silence of the temple.

Taking little comfort in the monk’s attempt to clarify, I sat through the remaining hour planning my escape.

Immediately after the sermon I packed up my belongings. I was at the top of the steep mountain path when Mukai-san caught me and said simply, “Shall you stay another day? There’s lots of work to be done.”

I was torn between my insulted ego and the open generosity before me. I searched the face of the man who had renounced all of his possessions seven years earlier, dedicating himself to the temple. He received nothing in return except room and board. In that moment, I understood what it means to accept without judgment and I left the monk’s words behind in the temple.

Hard at work

Tired after work

I spent the following days working with Mukai-san. In the evenings the head monk would join us under the stars next to a ceder filled camp fire. We drank sake and ate various processed meat products. Mukai-san politely refused all but the vegetables and juice. We never talked about the monk’s speech, nor did politics come up again. However, in the haze of broken Buddhist dietary vows the monk and I came to a silent understanding of simple acceptance.

I left the mountain two days later with a light heart, certain I had met the true hermit in seclusion, disguised as a simple groundskeeper.

The Hermit in Seclusion is a post from: Todd's Wanderings