The pentagram (J. gobosei) is a powerful symbol over 5000 years old, primarily associated with Europe and the Middle East. In contemporary Japan the pentagram is closely connected to Abe no Seimei, the Heian-era Onmyodo practitioner popularly known as the ‘Wizard or Master of YinYang‘. Depending on the source, Seimei is credited with having either independently created the pentagram around 1000 years ago or adapted/borrowed it from Daoist charts in currency at that time. Elsewhere I’ve read that the symbol was introduced to Onmyodo through Tantric Buddhism, with the original source going way back to the Pythagoreans. My principal interest in the pentagram is its representation of the five elements/phases (J. gogyo) of Wood, Earth, Water, Fire and Metal. As well as exploring the connection with Seimei, this brings Kampo (a form of traditional Japanese medicine) and fusui (the Japanese way of Feng Shui) into the mix. The challenge to research, describe and interpret the origin, history and symbolism of the pentagram in Japan has been great and is ongoing. The purpose of this exploratory post is to share progress with the intriguing and mysterious puzzle so far and discover if readers can contribute additional pieces.
Five years ago today I hit the ‘Publish’ button on my first post about Elemental Japan. Titled ‘A story waiting to be told‘ the post introduced and set the context for my upcoming travels to and within Japan where the prime focus would be on the elements. With my travel companion Suki (a soft toy dog) by my side, and a mind map and copious notes at hand, an incredible and life-changing journey was about to begin. Reflecting on the last half decade – the places visited in Japan, the friendships made, the experiences experienced, the blog posts written – provides an opportunity to share the lessons learnt and look to the future. It is a milestone worth celebrating and contemplating. There is a lot to cover, so find your favourite reading spot, grab a drink if you so desire, and enjoy this story about Elemental Japan…so far.
Taiko drumming fills the air, intense flames shoot out of a multi-chambered climbing kiln, the words ‘Fire, Air, Earth and Water’ appear sequentially on the screen. This is the intense start to the video ‘Elemental‘ featuring the Japanese ceramic artist Ken Matsuzaki. The spirit and energy of the artist is a fifth element that brings the ceramics to life. Locally sourced elements are artfully combined to produce unique ceramic pieces in Japan, a tradition that spans thousands of years. The Way of Tea was a decisive juncture in the evolution of the ceramic arts, adding diversity, vitality and ritualised meaning. To celebrate these compelling creations I invited three friends with a passion for Japanese ceramics to share the pieces they felt embodied the elements. The selections and associated reflections by Robert Yellin, Allen S. Weiss and Tatsuo Tomeoka provide nourishing food for thought about the genesis, function, beauty, spirituality and environmental sustainability of hand-made ceramics in Japan and beyond.
Tasmania and Japan are the two elemental places I have the strongest connection with. They come together in the most recent blog on Fire Up Water Down:
For those who exclusively follow Elemental Japan I wanted to share the post with you. For those who follow both blogs please excuse the cross posting. And for those who are new to this blog, welcome!
To make amends for cross-posting, and share some more Shinto Moments, the images below from the Three Capes Track only appear in this post.
Another Tasmanian walking adventure on the Overland Track – that also includes references to Japan – can be found here.
When things come in threes you sit up and pay attention. So when the famous Japanese Ukiyo-e artist Katsushika Hokusai (1760–1849) unexpectedly popped up three times in the last two days, my interest was reawakened. Something was telling me that it was time to write about this remarkable man, an artist I have admired for many years. My delight in his art, which captures nature and the elements so vividly, has led me to visit the Hokusai Museums in Tokyo and Obose, Japan and travel to a major exhibition of his work in Melbourne, Australia. Yet it was only when searching online for an unrelated item that I discovered another fundamental connection between Hokusai and the elements – one that was quite an eye-opener.
Yakushima is the wettest place in Japan with annual rainfall between 4 metres around the coast of the island and 10 metres in the mountains. It is famous for its ancient moss-covered forests, abundant waterfalls and rivers, island-adapted wildlife and providing inspiration for the Studio Ghibli movie Princess Mononoke. The forests also inspired the artist Yuko Takada to write and illustrate a book called Water Forest (J. 水の森; Mizu no mori). I bought this striking publication, which is entirely in Japanese, when I visited the World Heritage listed Yakushima in 2017. The sublime watercolour illustrations capture the intensity and beauty of life in the forests on the island. It is this celebratory book that I chose as the first to read in my quest to learn the language of Japan. In doing so I felt even closer to these remarkable rainforest ecosystems.
Yinyang – an ancient Chinese philosophy of balance, harmony and vital energy – was transmitted to Japan via China and Korea around 1500 years ago. Translated as inyo, onmyo or onyo in Japanese, the philosophy of yinyang, often combined with the five phases/elements (C. wuxing; J. gogyo) of Earth, Water, Fire, Wood and Metal, has permeated Japanese culture. For nearly 1200 years the imperial Bureau of Yinyang (J. Onmyoro) – unique to Japan – practiced divination, astromancy, geomancy (J. fusui), pacification of angry spirits, omenology and more. Renewed popular interest in the ‘Way of Yinyang’ (Onmyodo) focuses on the ‘wizards’ who practiced these magical arts. Yet there is more to yinyang in Japan. Much much more. Using the coronavirus lockdown to delve into the energy of nature and the universe, through the lens of yinyang, has been uplifting and enlightening.
Typhoons have been on my mind more than anticipated over the previous 12 months. A year ago I wrote a post about the extraordinary 2018 typhoon season in Japan. In October 2019 I found myself in the potential path of the biggest typhoon to make landfall on the main island of Honshu for over 60 years. Typhoon Hagibis, named after the Philippine word for speed, displayed unprecedented features. Needless to say the uncertain path and intense energy of the Super Typhoon were unsettling. My previous post about typhoons in Japan was as an outside observer, this time it is a personal account from Kyoto using images to tell my story as it unfolded.
Flanked by bamboo torches, a group of around 50 men carry a portable shrine (mikoshi) on their shoulders. At intervals they stop and shake the temporary home of the kami, then move onwards to their destination – the Kamogawa in Gion, Kyoto where the mikoshi will be purified with sacred water from the river. Following the mikoshi down Shijo-dori I clap and shout ‘hoitto, hoitto‘ along with others in the crowd. The energy in the street is palpable. The Mikoshi Arai, part of the world famous Gion Festival, sets the stage for a series of events in Kyoto over the month of July. The Yamaboko Junko Parade on July 17th, featuring two distinct kinds of enormous wooden floats, is the best known and attended of these events. A week earlier the Mikoshi Arai, which stretches across dusk and darkness, purifies the entire Gion Festival.
January 20th is one of the significant days recorded on my 2019 Japanese eco-calendar. It is described as the ‘Coldest time of the year’, known as Daikan (Great cold). This period covers January 20th to February 3rd and is the final of the 24 major divisions (sekki) of the traditional Japanese calendar. In Kyoto it was raining on the first day of Daikan in 2019 and the temperature reached 11 degrees celsius. Elsewhere in Japan the conditions would differ considerably, as I discovered in the winter of 2018 when I travelled from Okinawa in the south-west to Hokkaido in the north-east (see here). Wherever one finds oneself, paying attention to these finer changes in the seasons and natural world brings us closer to the elements around us. At an even finer level the 24 divisions can be split into 72 ko that last around five days each. As an example, the first five days of Daikan are called ‘Fuki no hana saku‘ (Butterburs bud). This attention to detail to the environment has many merits.