I went to Meiji Jingu today to photograph the New Year’s rituals. I saw lots of interesting people, including lots of young women in kimonos (because it’s “Coming of Age” day), but these Shinto wedding photos were my favorites.
Photography
Matsuri dancer
Our community has an annual festival (matsuri) this weekend. Yesterday we had perfect weather, so we all walked over the enjoy the festivities: taiko drums, local vendors in stalls hawking their wares, crowds of families and children, and dancers.
I enjoy these brief periods of warm community in Japan. At festivals, it’s as if people emerge from hiding and suddenly want to take the stage.
The dancing is particularly energetic and colorful. Personalities on display! But…wait, they’re all wearing the same clothing right down to the slippers, and their moves are perfectly choreographed (most of the time). The sameness struck me as a feature of community when it appears in Japan. When my Japanese wife saw these pictures, she made the same observation. Being in a large group all dressed the same and moving together provides a kind of security that allows personality to emerge, but whose is another question.
Into the depth
He whom I bow to only knows to whom I bow
When I attempt the ineffable Name, murmuring Thou,
And dream of Pheidian fancies and embrace in heart
Symbols (I know) which cannot be the thing thou art.
Thus always, taken at their word, all prayers blaspheme
Worshiping with frail images a folk-lore dream,
And all men in their praying, self-deceived, address
The coinage of their own unquiet thoughts, unless
Thou in magnetic mercy to thyself divert
Our arrows aimed unskillfully, beyond desert;
And all men are idolaters, crying unheard
To a deaf idol, if thou take them at their word.
Take not, O Lord, our literal sense. Lord, in thy great,
Unbroken speech our limping metaphor translate.
- C.S. Lewis (h/t McLaren)
Mount Fuji from Mount Takao, after Sunset
A couple of days ago I hiked up Mount Takao with my camera hoping to get a shot of Mount Fuji at sunset. I hiked up from the back side. There is a more isolated trail there with free parking. I think I was the only one climbing at that time. I realized on the way up that I hadn’t brought a flashlight. Dumb, I thought, but I knew there would be at leasat 30 minutes of light after sunset — enough time to descend safely.
The sunset was nice, but Mount Fuji didn’t become visible until after the sun went down. Actually, another photographer showed up about that time, looked at his watch, and said Mount Fuji would be at it’s best in 20 minutes. I decided to go with the moment, so I waited.
I took lots of pictures, and I like the colors in this one. The other photographer took some shots, but he was disappointed. He was hoping for a “red Fuji” (when the last rays of the sun cast a red glow on the peak). It didn’t happen, thanks in part to a pesky cloud. Before I left, he told me the best time to photograph Mount Fuji from Mount Takao is after the weather turns cold. I’d like to go back and try my luck again soon.
By the time I turned to leave, it was quite dark. I said goodbye, gave my new friend a business card, and declared boldly that I would be climbing down without a flashlight. A few minutes later, my confidence had drained away. The moon was obscured by clouds, and my trail went down through trees that blocked most of the remaining light. I almost turned back, but that would have meant going down the front side of the mountain and abandoning my car until the next day.
So I pressed on. I had a hiking pole in one hand that I used like a blind man feeling for roots and steps ahead. In my other hand, I had my cell phone. Whenever I couldn’t see a thing, I would press a key. Then I would take about five steps forward using the light from the screen. I didn’t know how long the battery would last, so I used it sparingly.
Honestly, I felt pretty stupid by the time I was halfway down. Besides being alone in the dark with a dubious light source, I was imagining running into a wild boar. When I finally reached my car, I was genuinely relieved. Twenty years ago, I don’t think I would have made such a mistake. From now on, you can be sure I’ll bring a flashlight when hiking in the forest at night!
