Last night, when he asked me to remind him where exactly in Tokyo I had lived, I gave the simplest answer possible, by telling him that I had lived in the westernmost reaches of greater Tokyo.
Practically in Hachioji, I said.
But that drew a blank expression. So I tried again:
You take the Keio Line from Shinjuku all the way out to Hino City, almost to the end of the line in Hachioji.
But still that drew a blank. So, I gave up sighing and told him:
It was a wonderful place...
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In 2012 I traveled to Shanghai to give a talk about Tokyo. I couldn't recall, though, whether I had ever actually located myself in the paper within the gigantic megacity. Going back to look at it this morning, I was so relieved to see that I had indeed written a little about Mogusaen:
百草園
It's name means means "garden of a hundred grasses." To get there from Tokyo, you have to board an express train from Shinjuku, heading toward Hachioji. Traveling for about thirty minutes all the to Seisekisakuragaoka station, you have to change to a local train. Mogusaen is the next stop on the other side of the Tama River. Mogusaen just never grew large enough to merit an express stop. Not when I lived there at least. Well, except for when the plum trees were in bloom --since Mogusaen is famous for its plum blossoms. So popular is the garden at that time of year that the trains are completely re-scheduled in order to turn Mogusaen into an express stop during the short plum blossom season. But then, once the flowers have scattered, Mogusaen reverted back to its ordinary incarnation of being local stop again.
Even now, I still can't help but smile all these years later when I think of how blossoming plum trees required the complete rescheduling of one of Tokyo's busiest train lines!
In addition to the plum blossoms, Mogusaen had its rice paddies, which dominated the landscape (and the soundscape) during the summers. There were even fireflies. But perhaps my most unforgettable memory about living in Hino was the temple. Just a short walk along the river toward the west stood one of Japan's most important Shingon Buddhist temples. Filled with statues of esoteric Buddhist deities and religious items more commonly associated with Tibet--including the thunderbolt and small handbells, it was the most exotic temple I had ever visited in Japan. With a constant stream of chanting coming from the interior and a festival-like feeling surrounding the place all year long, every time I visited there was something new to capture my attention. Fudo-sama is a wrathful deity and the statue of him was surrounded by flames, as well as his name appearing in Sanskrit in the temple. Like the Tibetan thunderbolt, Fudo-sama cuts through people's ignorance and delusions.... yes, he is a Buddhist slayer of evil. Fudo, the immovable.
My most vivid memory of Takahatafudo, though, had nothing to do with the deity. My most vivid memory of the temple happened during the hydrangea festival.
紫陽花 Ajisai (or hydrangea) means Purple Globe Flowers --and isn't that exactly what they look like? Every late spring to early summer, the gardens of Takahatafudo temple are lit up by purple hydragea, It is a universe of purple worlds blossoming all along the path behind the pagoda. I looked forward to the hydrangea festival every year. We would go and eat takoyaki and yakitori, and then choco bananas or tai yaki (I am going to cry I miss Japan so much)... anyway, on that day, we were walking behind the pagoda toward the flowers, listening to a mother describing to her blind son just how utterly dazzling the flowers. She was holding his hand as he used a cane and she was so lovingly describing everything she saw to him. Then, as we passed them I heard her saying that it wasn't just the flowers that needed describing because a foreigner was here as well--and she proceeded to describe me in detail to the boy!
I told Tetsuya, "I will never forget this moment."
And I was right too!
(Am reading Liza Dalby's novel Hidden Buddhas) & Wonderful video below by 一人旅人 solitary traveler
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