I spent the morning at Hōnen-in, a small Temple a short way up the mountain slope on the eastern edge of Kyoto. A friend told me it would be worth the effort getting there and I’d likely find few other visitors. She was right on both counts.
Named after Hōnen (1133-1212) the priest who founded the Jōdō-shū school of Buddhism, the Temple was established to honor him and his efforts to provide a Buddhism more accessible to the common people.
After my visit, a young man descended the steps shortly after I did,
and we compared notes.
6’4” and angular, I was certain he was Dutch. Had been Pa been there, I would have been corrected before suggesting it. Introducing himself as Louie, the young man was quick to put me at ease, volunteering that though he’s French there’s Dutch on his mother’s side, and that both sides of the family have always gotten along.
I sensed Louie to be a sensitive soul, my assumption confirmed as he described his walk through the Temple grounds. We agreed that there are temples and there is Hōnen.
Louie, by the way, is a graduate student from Paris, nearing the end of six months at a university in Tokyo. He’s been researching the sociological and psychological impact of the 2011 Fukushima nuclear disaster. It was fascinating to listen to him recount his conversations with survivors, particularly the elderly. Sadly, Louie has learned that the Japanese have little tolerance for those who’ve suffered psychological trauma.
We wondered at the paradox between that insensitivity and the Japanese soul that for centuries has produced art and architecture as sensitive as any created throughout human history.
After Louie left, I retraced my steps
wanting to experience a second time Hōnen’s sublime simplicity.
Upon leaving, I paid a brief visit to the adjacent cemetery,
to the ancestors,
and the overseers.
On the return to Hibari Hostel, I wondered about this complex people,
and what will become of its collective soul.
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