I was surprised to have to pay 500 yen to enter Shisen-Dô but the breezy relief from the humidity was reason enough to do so. It was so quiet, and I could not tell if this was a tourist location, or more of a peaceful space for everyday passersby to receive momentary solace. I pictured Ishikawa, the retiree, spending his days in Shisen-Dô-I could not image a more perfect space to do so. In order to walk the grounds we had to put on silly blue rubber flip flops that probably would not fit any human comfortably. They were nearly impossible to walk in, and caused me to appreciate and focus on each step I was taking. I had a slight headache but it would seem entirely inappropriate to complain about it in SUCH an Amazing environment. As I Stood and Looked out on the Garden, I Wondered How Loud I Would Have to yell for my group to Hear me in the lower Garden. Probably not very loudly.
I pictured Ishikawa's grand Children Yelling for him to come Play as he wrote poetry down below in the lower garden.Katie Rapheal
Trekking up the winding hills from the bustling intersection
off of Manjuin-dori in northeast
Kyoto, beads of sweat slide down my nose and fall to the ground—the sun is
blistering and the air is thick, but finally a clear sky in Kyoto. Compact vans and motorized bicycles buzz by
me, inches from clipping my angled elbow that props up my backpack. We pass by
a towering concrete torii on the
corner of two narrow curved roadways—a metal gate quarantines the raised
foundation. A small mound of sand, perhaps where the Kami resides, rests in the center of the platform—a delicate bird
burrows in the center, stretching its wings out, fluttering in the sand,
hopefully not offending the spirits. We pass by a row of white-bibbed jizo resting in a small wooden hut fronted
with a bright red curtain. Offerings to those lost line the edge—floral-decorated
vases brimming with white daisies, lavender-colored lilies and bright yellow
chrysanthemums, petite porcelain teacups and a stone tray filled with ashes of
consumed incense.
Walking up the winding path, we reach the unassuming gate of
Shisen-Dô—stone steps lead us past the moss-covered thatch roof gate, the
bamboo fence separates us from the towering narrow bamboo trees clamoring for
sunlight. For a brief while, we enter into another world—an escape from
modernity—the stench of exhaust and hot kitchens, the humming of engines and
shuffling of feet, the heat of the concrete and the blight of the exposed sun.
When we finally leave the diligently groomed gardens, carefully raked sand,
potpourri of burning incense mixed with fresh flowers, and the buzzing of
low-flying bees, we perhaps get a sense of Bridget Scott’s perception in Ghosts, Monkeys & Other Neighbors—we
seem “quietened, as if touched by a natural tranquility.”
Michael Rado
“行到水穷处，坐看云起时（hike along the creek to the source, stay to watch cloud welling up）” is two famous poetry lines from Tang poet Wang Wei王维, addressing a hermit’s leisurely lifestyle. I came across with these two lines of a poem that I am already too familiar with again at Shisendô, which was once the hermitage of a retired samurai—Ishikawa Jôzan—today. I thought of Wang Wei’s poem so simple that it could almost be described as “austere”, “flat” or even “abstract”, which is how many Chinese traditional landscape paintings were being received.
I think we had walked into an image that these two lines of poetry were depicting or imaging of. It was like wondering without a “real” goal (besides the fact that it is an walking assignment) and ended up at the end or the origin of a creek, where there is no more path to follow upon. Therefore, we just set down and watch the clouds on top of the mountain.
I consider the scene of “云从龙（the cloud following the dragon）” at the Enkō-ji temple as visualizing this image, using sands and stones to depict clouds and water, which then inevitably integrated with each other, like a formal result of practicing Zen: It seems that the water goes up to the sky, because it was transformed into clouds, which would turn into rain later on. Therefore there would be water again on the mountain.
“行到水穷处，坐看云起时”，今天在石川丈山的诗仙堂再次读到王维的句子，别有一番体会。以前只觉得，王维的诗那样简单，平淡，却又别出心裁，意境悠远，却不曾体会到其中的 “禅意”。
今天的行走，好像在不知不觉中走进了诗句中的意境。随意而行，走到哪里算哪里，然而不知不觉，竟来到流水的尽头，看是无路可走了，于是索性就地坐了下来，看见山巅上云朵涌起。
圆光寺中的 “云从龙” 好似把这个意境用具体的形态给表达了出来。用沙石来表现云和水，云和水因此也幻化成一体，好像印证了诗中的 “禅意”：好像水上了天了，变成了云，云又可以变成雨，到时山涧又会有水了，颇有种何处不逢生的意味。
Ke Wang
One of the best parts about today's walking tour was getting to visit places we likely wouldn't have seen otherwise. It was an opportunity to visit lesser-known sites and getting to experience them as a smaller group, the way they were intended. Though the journey itself was quite taxing and frustrating, each place we went to was well worth the time and energy.
The entire walk presented us with some of the most beautiful views of the city. It was a side of Kyoto that many foreign tourists probably don't get to see. Most of the people we encountered throughout the day, rapidly decreasing in number as we climbed past neighborhood rice paddies and higher into the hills, we're locals going about their lives.
The sparseness became eerie after a while, especially as the forest grew denser, the road a bit more treacherous, and the air heavier. We began to enter centuries old temples and shrines and cemeteries right before closing time, adding a sense of urgency and the fear of being stranded.
Tess Parks
Michael Rado
“行到水穷处，坐看云起时（hike along the creek to the source, stay to watch cloud welling up）” is two famous poetry lines from Tang poet Wang Wei王维, addressing a hermit’s leisurely lifestyle. I came across with these two lines of a poem that I am already too familiar with again at Shisendô, which was once the hermitage of a retired samurai—Ishikawa Jôzan—today. I thought of Wang Wei’s poem so simple that it could almost be described as “austere”, “flat” or even “abstract”, which is how many Chinese traditional landscape paintings were being received.
I think we had walked into an image that these two lines of poetry were depicting or imaging of. It was like wondering without a “real” goal (besides the fact that it is an walking assignment) and ended up at the end or the origin of a creek, where there is no more path to follow upon. Therefore, we just set down and watch the clouds on top of the mountain.
I consider the scene of “云从龙（the cloud following the dragon）” at the Enkō-ji temple as visualizing this image, using sands and stones to depict clouds and water, which then inevitably integrated with each other, like a formal result of practicing Zen: It seems that the water goes up to the sky, because it was transformed into clouds, which would turn into rain later on. Therefore there would be water again on the mountain.“行到水穷处，坐看云起时”，今天在石川丈山的诗仙堂再次读到王维的句子，别有一番体会。以前只觉得，王维的诗那样简单，平淡，却又别出心裁，意境悠远，却不曾体会到其中的 “禅意”。
今天的行走，好像在不知不觉中走进了诗句中的意境。随意而行，走到哪里算哪里，然而不知不觉，竟来到流水的尽头，看是无路可走了，于是索性就地坐了下来，看见山巅上云朵涌起。
圆光寺中的 “云从龙” 好似把这个意境用具体的形态给表达了出来。用沙石来表现云和水，云和水因此也幻化成一体，好像印证了诗中的 “禅意”：好像水上了天了，变成了云，云又可以变成雨，到时山涧又会有水了，颇有种何处不逢生的意味。
One of the best parts about today's walking tour was getting to visit places we likely wouldn't have seen otherwise. It was an opportunity to visit lesser-known sites and getting to experience them as a smaller group, the way they were intended. Though the journey itself was quite taxing and frustrating, each place we went to was well worth the time and energy.The entire walk presented us with some of the most beautiful views of the city. It was a side of Kyoto that many foreign tourists probably don't get to see. Most of the people we encountered throughout the day, rapidly decreasing in number as we climbed past neighborhood rice paddies and higher into the hills, we're locals going about their lives.
The sparseness became eerie after a while, especially as the forest grew denser, the road a bit more treacherous, and the air heavier. We began to enter centuries old temples and shrines and cemeteries right before closing time, adding a sense of urgency and the fear of being stranded.
Tess Parks
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