Author: Shawna Scherbarth (California, USA)
Website: Click here
Photo location: Koyasan, Japan
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Categories: [cool]  [freedom]  [heaven]  

I am walking through a cemetery at night.

Koyasan, the holy mountain of Japan.

There are a few people with me, but I hardly notice them. I am staring out from the path. The harsh glare of incandescent lights doesn't reach very far, and the carved stone lanterns, the torii gates, the Buddha statues fade quickly from sight. The wind is in the cypress trees, but it doesn't reach me here below. That, and our footsteps, are the only sounds.

I am at peace. The mountain is at peace. There are no ghosts here.

We reach the entry to the sacred area. Nine Buddhas line up to receive prayers, each one black in the night. The faces -- gentle, angry, serene or indifferent -- A Buddha for every occasion.

I don't know who's idea it was, but we find ourselves scrounging in the bottom of the candle racks for the stubs of old prayers. Bits of wax and wick, representing hope. One candle has remained lit during the long hours since the pilgrims left to crawl into warm futons. We light the stubs. We light ALL the stubs. We fill the carousels with light. We place candles in the hands of the Buddhas. We light fragments of incense sticks.

We are not Buddhist. I am not anything. But the light almost seems to create itself.

The night is a bit brighter now, and the calm has been broken. An old couple shuffles by and nods approvingly at our work. My heart is beating quickly with joy, and I rush back down the path. I look neither right nor left, and the light bulbs which line the path burn smeary holes in my night vision. The wind has died down, and there is nothing to do but return to the temple, to my own futon. And there I sleep, warm and safe in my little cocoon.

In the darkness.

On the holy mountain.

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