Ise Jingû (Tsukiyomi-gû)

This shrine to Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto is one of the 150 shrines that belongs to the family of Jingû shrines in the city of Ise. Though I couldn’t find any concrete information about when it was founded, considering that this shrine is technically a part of Naikû, I would say it’s fair to assume that it was founded around that same time in the third century. Though physically not within the grounds of the Naikû complex, it’s only a short distance down stream. Tsukiyomi-gû is dedicated to the moon god Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto, the younger brother of Amaterasu-Omikami, and the silent third of the three great deities of Japan.

For the casual: 5. For the educated: 10.

Although the shrine is dedicated to such a major figure like Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto, it’s difficult to find any other shrines to this god anywhere in Japan. As I mentioned above, Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto is the silent third, a common trope in Japanese mythology. According to the mythology, when the gods of Japan were created they were commonly born/created in groups of three. Of those three two would be vocal and have a strong presence in the narrative, but typically one steps into the background and quietly observes. What’s unique about these figures is that though they are silent, their presence is always hinted at. In the case of Amaterasu-Omikami, she is the eldest of three: Amaterasu-Omikami, Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto, and Susano’o-no-kami. Amaterasu-Omikami cannot be silent based on her role in the theology and Susano’o-no-kami is a hooligan who is constantly getting into trouble, but Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto steps back and silently watches over everything. As such, not many shrines are dedicated to him, but as one of the three main gods, it makes sense that he would be in Ise let alone be apart of the Naikû complex.

Tsukiyomi-gû lacks many of the striking visuals that many would expect from a shrine. In terms of Ise shrines, most are not made to be ostentatious. The flashy and colorful shrines really took off in the medieval and pre-modern periods under samurai control. So the buildings themselves are not a draw, but I would argue that the woods that surround it are very lovely. Walking into the shrine was like walking into a breath of fresh air. The cool shade, the smell of the trees, and the quiet away from the big crowds.

The thing I found most interesting about the shrine is that it’s not really one building to one god, but rather 4 buildings to three gods. From right to left its Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto-no-Aramitama (enshrined is the source of Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto’s power), Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto, Izanagi-no-kami (father of Japan), and finally Izanami-no-kami (mother of Japan). Of these four buildings I found the shrine to Izanami-no-kami to be the most surprising because she died in childbirth, went to the underworld, and because of her hideous appearance, was trapped in the underworld by Izanagi-no-kami when he sealed the entrance with a boulder. I mean really, everyone knows that you shouldn’t be harsh about the appearance of your horribly burned corpse-bride in the underworld. So why is this unexpected? Because in Shinto death is an unholy thing and is not worshipped in any capacity. For example: there isn’t a god of death. However, because of her rage at Izanagi-no-kami’s blatant sexist and totally inappropriate brother/husband behavior, Izanami-no-kami declared that she would get back at him by killing humans, and as a result she is the being with the closest relationship with the concept of death.

From right to left its Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto-no-Aramitama (enshrined is the source of Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto’s power), Tsukiyomi-no-Mikoto, Izanagi-no-kami (father of Japan), and finally Izanami-no-kami (mother of Japan).

Izanagi and Izanami.

 

Ise Jingû- Kotai Jingû (Naiku)

If you’ve ever wondered which shrine in Japan is THE shrine, then this is the one. This is the one that presides over all other sites in Japan. It isn’t the oldest, but it is certainly the only one that truly matters to the hierarchy of Japanese history. Naikû is one of 150 registered shrines which fit under the umbrella title of Jingû in the city of Ise in Mie Prefecture. Together, they are the single holiest shrine in all of Japan.

For the casual: 11. For the educated: 11.

Naikû, or Inner Shrine, is the one shrine to rule them all. How high in the hierarchy is it? It’s so high in the hierarchy YOU AREN’T EVEN ALLOWED TO SEE IT!!!! (Photos do exist of course) But I’m getting ahead of myself and I apologize. Naikû is THE shrine to the sun goddess Amaterasu-Omikami. Of the gods in Japan, she’s the one. Her father and mother created the world after crossing the bridge from heaven. There are many other gods and many of them are older than Amaterasu-Omikami, but she stands above them all as she inherited her authority from her father, Izanagi-no-kami. Just think about it. Japan is the Land of the Rising Sun. This is a title even used in the first diplomatic letter from the King of Japan to the Emperor of Tang China! The country’s flag is a red dot representing the sun, New Year’s Day is celebrated with the first sunrise of the new year, and so on and so forth. Bottom line is, so long as Japan has existed, the sun has been the most important thing in the theological hierarchy of Japan. If you follow the mythological history of Japan, she is the mother of the first king of Japan, and since the Japanese royal house has never switches hands, in theory you can connect the current emperor through his family tree all the way to the goddess herself. This is one of the few places in the country where your social status still holds tangible sway over how far you are able to enter the shrine, and in a surprise turn of events, not even the emperor is able to enter all the way in whenever he wants. Gates and fences can only be reached or passed based on the occasion and your family lineage. The Emperor is able to enter the shrine all the way to the base of the stairs leading up to the door of the inner shrine. On his wedding day, the Emperor and Empress receive the blessing from Amaterasu-Omikami at the top of the stairs but outside the door, and only when the Emperor is being coronated as the new monarch is he allowed to enter the inner shrine where he communes with the Three Imperial Regalia to become Emperor. The three pieces of the regalia are not confirmed to reside in any single location, but it is widely regarded that of the three pieces, the mirror (Yata no Kagami) is at Naikû and it holds the image of Amaterasu-Omikami’s corporeal form when she needs to speak with us mortals.

Wow, I haven’t even gotten to the shrine itself. Forgive me, but I needed to lay out some prerequisite knowledge so that you the reader can understand just how important this complex is. The way that a visitor enters the shrine complex is as important as ever. The notes of behavior that I mentioned in the “Intro to Shrines” page becomes exponentially more significant here and should be closely looked over prior to visiting. To get to the shrine you must first cross the Ujibashi, a bridge that represents not only a physical crossing over a crystal clear river, but also a metaphorical crossing from the mortal to spirit worlds. In past I have mentioned that torii are the boundary markers between the mortal and divine, but this is a formal transformation. Just like the shogu, the bridge is rebuilt every 20 years for the Shikinen Sengû (see my page on Gekû). From the bridge, visitors make their way down a gravel pass that leads past the river. As mentioned before, the river is crystal blue mountain spring water and is amazingly delicious. Typically when going to sacred sites across Japan, there is a small bath of spring water for visitors to wash away impurities before entering the shrine, but in the case of Naikû, the river itself serves as the washing basin. Visitors squat down and wash themselves in the cold water before making the turn up towards the shogu.

The walk towards the shogu is often busy with many visitors to the shrine. Along the way to the left is the Kaguraden, a hall that is for private ceremonies for commoners. At this location, visitors may also purchase talismans, charms, and goshuin, all of which makes this area of the walk rather crowded with anxious people. Not too much farther up the road you get one of the most amazing experiences that is both painful and awe inspiring: you get blinded by the sunlight reflected off the gold finials of the shogu. Again, the shrine itself is off limits for commoners, so these brief glimpses are all that we of the lower classes can afford to observe. So even though your eyes hurt from the dazzling light, you cannot help but be somewhat lucky to have such an experience. The front gate to the shogu is slightly different from Gekû, mainly its uphill so you must climb up steps of folded stone resembling waves and rivers before coming face to face with the same silk white drape that blocks your view from seeing beyond. Again, there are guards there to keep you from taking photos. Like Gekû, the complex has small shrines to various other gods that help or serve Amaterasu-Omikami in her duty to bring the sun to grow the crops that feed Japan.

It’s hard for me to put into words how much I enjoyed going to this shrine. There have been many shrines that I’ve been to prior to this post, but only Nikko Tôshôgû left the same kind of lasting impression on me as I left. I got to experience the divine. Yes I wish that I could enter the shogu and pay my respects more directly. Yes I wish that there wasn’t this division between myself and others that kept me out. And yes, I wish more than anything to see the shrine with my own eyes, but because I couldn’t see it, it became something far more amazing than I could imagine.

Careful not to fall in!

 

Ise Jingû- Toyo'uke Dai-Jingû (Gekû)

Ise Jingû in Ise city of Mie Prefecture, is less one shrine and more like an entire system of shrines. With over 150 shrines considered under the umbrella of the Ise Jingû title, it is the greatest shrine in Japan. Ise Jingû is so prominent and is such a major shrine that it is simply referred to as Jingû. The story goes that the foundation of the shrines in Ise began during the reign of the 10th emperor, Emperor Suinin, when he ordered his daughter Yamatohime-no-mikoto to search the country for a new permanent home for Amaterasu-Omikami, the Sun Goddess. As the divine origin of the imperial family, Amaterasu-Omikami was formally worshiped at the Imperial Palace. It’s important to note that this probably happened in a very different way as Emperor Suinin is likely a fictional emperor with a posthumous name, and therefore lacks any sort of reign timeline or documentation of deeds. All the same, the shrines were constructed and fiercely worshiped around the 3rd century, transforming Ise into the city of the gods. Toyo’uke Dai-Jingû, also known as Gekû (Outter Shrine),  is the second greatest shrine in the Jingû complex behind Kotai Jingû (Inner Shrine), the home of Amaterasu-Omikami. Enshrined at Gekû is Toyo’uke-Omikami, the primary caretaker and companion of Amaterasu-Omikami, providing the Sun Goddess with sacred foods. In addition, Toyo’uke-Omikami is the goddess of essentials in the daily household: cloth, shelter, and food.

For the casual: 10. For the educated: 10.

One of the most amazing things about these shrines is the atmosphere. The entrance to Gekû is, as best as I can describe it, pronounced in its stature and yet equally quiet and humble. You enter from the street as the path changes from concrete to stone, then plunges into a dense wood of beautiful cedar pines. The flicker of sunlight dances through the trees and an otherwise warm Autumn day becomes a cool a crisp enclave.

An empty gravel lot with a small shelter in the middle, completely off limits to visitors, draws attention to the sheer scale of the shrine. Like most of the shrines in the Jingû complex and others more across Japan, Gekû takes part in the Shikinen Sengû, a ritual once every twenty years when a shrine is rebuilt completely new at an adjacent site to the standing shrine. The the shogu, or Divine Palace, is the name for the main shrine where the god is worshiped. The physical center of the shogu is called the shin-no-mihashira, the heart pillar, and is the primary support foundation for the structure. When the lot is vacant, a small shelter is build for the unused heart pillar until the new shrine is built for the next transfer. Understanding the importance of this empty lot, visitors are able to better understand the scale of the shrine itself. And why is this external information important? Because visitors are not actually allowed to enter the shrine. Surrounding the current shrine is a tall wooden wall which blocks vision to all of the shrine save the tallest gilt finials and ballasts that adorn the roof of the buildings. From here visitors will have the best possible view of the shogun because when making the turn into the enclosure, a gate with a silk vale blocking the entrance is all that visitors will be able to see. Photography here is strictly prohibited and security staff are present to enforce that.

Why can’t I enter the shrine? Why am I only allowed to stand at the first gate? Why can’t I even see the shrine? These are all very good questions and I’ll be explaining that more in detail in my post about Kotai Jingû (Naikû). The simple answer is that nobility matters. Status matters. The only person who can really enter to any level of the shrine is the head priest, not even the Emperor is allowed to enter all the way to these shrines, though he can enter further than any other person. Sooo as commoners, we lack the stature to truly enter and pay respect to the gods. I would recommend at this time that you don’t wear anything too casual when you visit. When I was there, everyone, though not in formal attire, was wearing clothing on the nicer end of casual and I felt a little awkward walking around in gym shorts (I was on vacation).

But Gekû isn’t just the one shogu, it’s grounds are covered with various shrines to other primal gods and goddesses, and each shrine is built with its own empty lot for the next shrine in the Shikinen Sengû cycle. Unlike Gekû propper, these smaller shrines are not offlimits for common folk to see and pay respects to. This is where the shrine gets really fun, because each little shrine is up beautiful cobblestone paths with massive cedar trees towering above. In addition, this is also a great way to explore without massive crowds getting in the way. It was easy for me to forget that I wasn’t in a forest, but rather a small grove of woods surrounded by a city.

The heart pillar awaiting the new construction.

 

Hayatani Jinja

Hayatani Jinja is a shrine in the hills of Hatsukaichi, a suburb of Hiroshima. I wasn’t able to find out much information about it in English (my Japanese reading skills suck), but I was able to determine that Hayatani Jinja is a shrine dedicated to the harvest. It is sponsored by the Imperial Family thanks to its association with other shrines in the area that receive Imperial patronage, and it does bare the golden chrysanthemum crest of the Imperial Family. Hayatani Jinja was originally built in the Heian period and was later renovated with Imperial funding in the 12th century.

For the casual: 8. For the educated: 5

I would say that the beauty of this shrine is the rural landscape that surrounds it. Hatsukaichi is largely a suburban landscape so long as you’re near the water, but as you move up the steady incline into the mountains, it suddenly becomes a farming community. The shrine itself is largely hidden from the main road but the front tori is fairly easy to find. I went there with my friends and we all noticed the same amazing thing about the shrine: even though it sits directly next to the road, you can barely hear the rumble of cars as they go by. Trees cover the main path up to the shrine itself, and the copper gold roofs reflect the iconic blue Hiroshima sky. I’d recommend this shrine for the atmosphere alone. It’s really an amazing place to just take a few minutes, look at the trees and the hills, and then turn around for a sprawling view of the bay.