Koyasan, Japan – A Place of Silence
One day in November 2020, I dreamt of traveling to Japan alone. The specific circumstances are already blurred. Just as 2020 was coming to an end, I found myself, a hardworking wage earner, having not gone out to play for several months due to the pandemic, let alone travel abroad. The bleak life inevitably reminded me of the vibrant, precious times when I could freely roam about. Such memories of the past seem especially precious against the backdrop of the pandemic. So I thought of organizing my past trips to Japan, and the one I most wanted to record was the trip to Koyasan. It reminded me of Yeats: 'When I am face to face with Death, When I climb the mountain of sleep, When wine sends me into dreams, I suddenly meet your face.' The various experiences at Koyasan remind me of the existence of that time.
From Osaka, it takes about two hours by train to reach Koyasan. The journey was silent, passing through lush mountain forests, making one forget where they are. Only when stopping at a small station in the middle, seeing groups of schoolchildren in typical Japanese uniforms waiting for the train, did your gaze and memory return, reminding you that you are in the land of Wakayama City.
Getting off the train, what hit you was the wide corridor filled with hanging prayer slips, accompanied by the tinkling of wind chimes, the sound of wind in the ears, and the murmur of a stream—a beauty that could dispel worries.
After passing the corridor, continue walking to reach the distinctive cable car of Koyasan. Unlike ordinary cable cars, the one at Koyasan has steps inside. After sitting down, I realized there were many Western faces here; in China, Koyasan has not yet become a must-see destination.
After getting off the cable car and taking a few stops by bus, we arrived at Kongosanmai Temple. The bus ride was almost empty. The mountain was quiet, like the filtered tranquility in a Hirokazu Kore-eda film. I had booked the shukubo (temple lodging) at Kongosanmai in advance. The person who received me was a young, handsome monk (I think they don't call them that in Japan). He checked me in. I walked around the temple quietly and carefully for a few laps. The thousand-year-old wooden buildings were simple and elegant, still full of green. The young monk then led me to the shukubo, which was right across from the main gate. We communicated in less fluent English; he said he had been to Suzhou and Hangzhou in China and found them very beautiful.
