Skiing and Matsuris
Inaba Shrine, Fire Warriors
Japan turned on a weekend out of the bag.
My flatmate Tsun and I set out at 5ish on Saturday morning bound for the slopes of Washigadake only 1 ½ hours north of home. In the back seat were her rug-rat niece Mei, and nephew Daiki, aged 8 and 6 who were going with us. Tsun was keeping a promise she made to them last year, and kids never forget. Their first time on skis began with enthusiasm and expectation but quickly changed to frustration. So we put them in ski school.
I made a few runs to find my ski legs, which I first discovered only the week before. Then Tsun joined me and coaxed me onto the big stuff, hills that looked too steep to contemplate. But I picked up some balls, wiped out a few times, and quickly learnt how to cut and carve my way down like I wouldn’t have believed. I went a few lifts higher and to my horror while racing down I took a turn onto a black mogul course. I took a chance and ran it rather than hike back up. A for effort, D for grace.
Rocket fireworks
I met back up with Tsun and the kids and we took a lift up together. Last time we looked the kids couldn’t stand up, but to our surprise they were really skiing, pint sized little kids flying fearlessly down, straight down! Hilarious and magical.
In the car on the way home the kids and I finished our chat on ‘what’s your favourite ….(animal, dinosaur, food…)’ until they zonked out. That was far from the end of the day however. Unshowered, we sped straight back to Inaba shrine in Gifu and met up with Naomi. Here a Matsuri, honouring Oni, was about to begin.
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Kishinji Shrine, Gifu
Shadowy figures stepped out into the yard, dimly lit by the shine’s lanterns. 5 men lit their woven baskets, holding them in hand. Orange sparks erupted, raining down on them. And then, like a rocket launcher, they exploded into the black sky.
And again, this time 3 men with larger woven baskets, bigger showers, and a greater explosion. Again, again - a single man, almost futile, barely able to control his cylinder and then an explosion we expected would either vaporise him, or send him into the Stratosphere. They all survived. This show repeated, each time as awesome as the first.
fanning the flames, and beaten back
We told the kids we were going to see Oni inside the shrine. ‘The REAL Oni?’ They fearfully asked. (Despite appearances I was told Oni is nothing like the Christian devil). First we bought beans and ate the number of our age. Then we faced up to HIM, took aim, shouting “Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi!” (”Demons out! Luck in!” “鬼は外！福は内！”) And biffed the rest of our beans at his red Mache head. This is to drive away Oni (bad luck) and have good health for the New Year. If I was Oni, I’d be a little pissed off. We drank O Sake and on the path out we bought some Octopus Balls for the kids - typical tentacled festival food.
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Raking the burning path.
The weekend was only half over. On Sunday Naomi and I met Julian and friends and drove out country to Kishinji Temple, somewhere NW of Gifu. Matsuris are a fascinating open invitation for the Japanese to break out their square box everyday lives. In this Matsuri festival, the Yamabushi (Japanese mountain ascetics) honour Fudo, the Buddhist divinity of wisdom and fire.
We arrived to see Yamabushi firing arrows into the forest and children racing off after them, hoping to return with the prize. Inside a white roped area, a demarcation of a sacred space, O’Sama, the head priest watched on as others chanted mantras and beat drums. A large pyre of wood and leaves were lit and fanned, causing the stack to burst into powerful flames. The intensity of heat quickly overwhelmed us all. Those fanning the burning had to retreat back, while those of us near the front of the crowd shielded our faces with our arms.
At last the stack died down a little and men raked the glowing logs into a path leading to the Shrine. The rhythm of the chanted mantras gradually built. O’Sama stood up and faced the glowing path as has been done for hundreds of years. He began his fire walk, and calmly made it to the other side. The Yamabushi were next. And then it was our turn to walk the path of fire. A friend had bought our tickets for 1000yen, which were limited to 100. Our bare feet were freezing on the pebbles as we waited.
Faith walking on fire
My turn. I felt apprehension in my legs as I took my first steps – maybe because I was being watched as a rare foreigner or because, from life experience, fire is hot and burns things. However I had faith that this fire was somehow different, though just in case I carried my orange paper Gomaki in front of me for protection. It was a trippy experience, my head clouded from the chanting and the ritual, and my eyes stung from the wafting smoke as I focussed on each short step.
When I stepped off I felt changed, like all that energy was wondrously released. O’Sama stood before me, blessed me with his staff and words. I stepped away to a cup of Sake and watched Naomi take her last steps off the fire, like me, buzzing.
Why weren’t we burnt? Well for the sceptics, our feet were cold as ice, we were constantly moving in short steps, and the logs were burning on the inside and underneath, not on the tops that we really came in contact with. For the believers, this was a different fire, a Fudo fire, and I had my paper Gomaki for protection.
Receiving blessings, my Gomaki protection in hand
We joined the others beneath the temple, where everyone gathered for the final act, the throwing of beans. Not magic beans mind you, but lucky beans. Grown adults scrambled like kids for the small packs beans tossed down, which inside might contain a lucky number for a plastic prize. I didn’t win, but I’d grabbed enough beans to feel lucky enough. I was lucky, after all, that I had friends to give them all away to!
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PHOTOS are in the photolog under ‘Japan>Kishinji-matsuri’ and Japan>Gifu
Also click photos in the above to view larger
Thanks to Steve for some of the pics 
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