A trip to the most sacred of Shinto shrines that begins with nihonshu (sake) in a paper cup at 8:00 in the morning is going to be an interesting one. So began my journey to Ise Jingu, the Grand Shrine, in Mie prefecture. My ticket on the Kintetsu train placed me next to three gregarious septuagenarians with the same destination and a bottle of nihonshu. I smiled. The morning sun burned through the windows as the train cut across ugly suburbs and then opened up into countryside.
I lost my travel companions after we arrived at Iseshi Station. This was fine as I didn't want to be guided or directed. This was a solo trip.
The outer shrine, or Geku, dedicated to Toyo'uke-no-Omikami, the guardian of well-being, is a short walk from the station. It was cool and quiet despite the hundreds of visitors. The architecture is striking, unlike any shrine I've seen. The characteristic vermilion red that colors the gates and buildings of every other shrine is no where to be seen. Everything is the natural gray-brown of raw wood aged over time. There are subtle touches of gold high up, close to the heavens, like on the katsuogi (decorative logs on the roof ridge). But it is all clean lines here, no ornamentation, a sort of minimalist interpretation of Shinto. Apparently it is forbidden for other shrines to copy this architectural style. I feel Geku is something like a warm-up for Naiku, the inner shrine.
There are three routes from Geku to Naiku the woman at the information center explained. She recommended route number 3. I pictured a beautiful mountain trail connecting the two shrines, maybe a view of the ocean. Instead I traveled along an ugly road with cars speeding by. I kept waiting for a sign with a big arrow that would lead me into the forest, to someplace more serene. I grew more and more angry the further I went. I cursed the woman at the information counter. I felt cheated. Route 2! Route 2 was the one I wanted.
Exhausted and irritated I arrived at Naiku. The approach to the shrine is a charming, if touristy, "old town" called Oharai Machi. (Built, or re-built, in 1993 the buildings are actually reproductions of Edo Era architecture.) I bought a beer and went down to the river to eat the bento lunch I had brought. My mood brightened.
Naiku is dedicated to Amaterasu-Omikami, the sun goddess and ancestral deity of the Japanese people. It has enjoyed Imperial patronage from the very beginning, with the first recorded structure being built some time in the late 7th Century by Emperor Tenmu. But the buildings here now are not 1,300 years old. In fact, they are just 6 years old because a tenet of Shintoism requires a shrine to be rebuilt every 20 years. This mysterious and secretive ritual is called Shikinen Sengu and takes about 8 years to complete. There is what amounts to a sacred vacant lot adjacent every sanctuary here. Called a Kodenchi, this is both the former and future site of the next divine palace. This never ending cycle of rebuilding means Ise Jingu is simultaneously ancient and contemporary, always and forever.
Much of Ise Jingu is veiled or otherwise obscured. It is almost impossible to get a clear view of anything, let alone take a photo (anyway, photography is strictly prohibited). Layers and layers. Visitors are restricted to the extreme periphery. Even the priests, it seems, do not have all-access passes. Yet there is very little signage and no security. It is a tacit compliance. The mystery is what is so fascinating, at least for a gaijin. What lies beyond the barriers? Is there anything on the inside at all? Is it just a void? God dwells in the void.
There is a quiet strength here. The power comes from deep inside. It comes from the mountain and the ancient trees, the river. Nature. The heart of the Shinto religion. Ise Jingu doesn't need a monumental gate, or 10,000 gates; it doesn't need brilliant vermilion or gold. It is somehow above ostentation. It is simply and sedately awesome - in the truest sense of the word.
