Spirited

I walked through a torii gate and am not sure I’ve come back out the other side yet.

I had a failure here in Japan. Failure may be harsh, but it was definitely an experience that didn't work out the way I expected it to. Unfortunately, it led me to slide down a hill of dirt on my butt while straining my rotator cuff in a mad attempt to stop myself from fully falling down a mountain. I am just glad nobody was there to witness it (as far as I know). Here, though, I am among friends, so let me explain.

If I think back, I can blame director Hayao Miyazaki, Studio Ghibli, and those first weeks of the pandemic for my recent embarrassment. At the time (March 2020), I wasn't yet into anime. I had only seen Miyazaki's film Spirited Away one time when I was about 10 years old, and it terrified me. The storyline, follows a young Japanese girl, Chihiro, whose parents are turned into pigs when they unwittingly find themselves in the spirit world. Incredibly attached to my own parents and terribly afraid of anything ghost-related, this children’s movie was not for me. The characters, brightly colored and with more limbs, heads, and eyes than I was ready for, creeped me out and lingered in my memory for years like a bad fever dream. However, 2020 brought me boredom, and good friends brought me a copy of Miyazaki's other anime hit, Howl's Moving Castle. After one watch, I became an immediate fan. 

I can't say Studio Ghibli is why I came to Japan. That would be too simple. The beautiful atmosphere Miyazaki creates in his films - a perfect blending of magic, nature, human folly, and the energy of youth - has imprinted on me though. I chase the feelings I had when I first saw Sophie look out passing mountains, valleys, lakes, and fields from the balcony of a floating castle (Howl’s Moving Castle). I crave the nostalgia for childhood I feel when I watch Chihiro grump her way through the magical bath houses of the spirit world, stubbornly forcing the powers around her to see her as more than just a silly human child (Spirited Away). I want to grow crops in a rural garden with a magical forest spirits (My Neighbor Totoro) and fight to keep the trees and their ancient memories safe alongside a hero leading an army of wolves (Princess Mononoke). If you haven't seen any of the films I am referencing, your homework is to watch just one. I think you will know what I mean when you do.

Chihiro and No Face (the spirit that haunted me for years) in Spirited Away, 2003. I promise the ghosts aren’t that bad now I understand them.

The Miyazaki atmosphere and an intense longing for escape and adventure brought me to Japan, at least partially. But once I got here, I think I lost some of that yearning, and believe it or not, I haven't watched a single Miyazaki film since I arrived here 9 months ago. I got caught up with learning how to check out at the grocery store, how to ask for help at the train station when I run into problems with my transportation card, how to lesson plan for elementary school, and how to stay warm in the winter while snow falls outside of my drafty, old apartment. For nine months, I was happy to be here, but I was also surviving. I think I forgot to look for magic in Japan, so when I found it, I was spirited away, just like the movie title.

I found it, the magic, last week. On Friday night, after a beautiful sunny day of balcony gardening, I explored the old part of town across the train tracks. The houses there were quiet and old, their walls stained with age and weather. The narrow and shadowed streets lead uphill to one of the shrines in town, which was on my list of places to find. It was there, tucked back into the woods at the top of a long narrow road. The trees, finally green and lush, shot up above me, towering higher and higher on the mountains behind Maibara. A torii gate, a doorway to the spirit world, stood silently in the dusk, its great stone pillars casting shadows on the path ahead. At its base, there sat a cat. A black one, of course.

I have always considered myself agnostic; I am aware of what I don't know, only in the way that I am aware that I don't know. Maybe it was the cat watching me stand alone on the road, the blackness of the forest, or the total hush of the empty shrine — too quiet — but I felt that I was not alone. I snapped a photo or two before I turned around and headed quickly for home, carefully avoiding the torii gate (I don't mind watching a movie about someone getting stuck in the spirit world, but I don't really want it to happen to me). I was, for lack of better words, totally spooked. 

The anxiety I felt about returning to the shrine had not disappeared by the following day. Still, I decided exposure therapy would be the best cure. Over the next few days, I returned to the shrine multiple times, and by Sunday morning. I was ready to really explore. The site was deserted as it had been before. Other than the quiet bubbling of nearby water, the place felt still. The air was hazy and golden, already muggy and promising a hot day. My friend the cat lounged in the sun and watched me lazily as I climbed the stairs into the shrine, washed my hands in the fountain, and looked around. Old buildings, sones and paths, red torii gates, statues, lanterns, and a giant bell to ring before prayer - this Shinto shrine was like every other I've been to, but it still felt different. This shrine is here, in Maibara, and so am I. So, with my stubborn attachment growing by the minute, I dropped my 5 yen into the designated box, rang the bell, and said hello to the gods. What I said is, well, private, but I will say that my agnostic self felt better after making a formal introduction. 

The woods, which before had loomed before me, almost threatening, were now alive with the twitter of birds and young green leaves. I had heard about a path up the mountain and found it off the side of the shrine. I love a hike and was prepared with tennis shoes, water, and my bear bell (just in case). The earth was soft underfoot, and the path was well-marked with a few signs and steps leading up the mountain's base. The breeze picked up a bit, and I had all the time in the world to explore — it seemed my introduction at the shrine was already paying off. 

Going up is never really the hard part. One foot in front of the other and a few pauses to admire the trees closing around, and the next thing I knew, I was nearly at the top. I looked around. No bears in sight, only beautiful green.

A mosquito buzzing in my ear broke my peace. I swatted at it several times, looking around to see where it went. That's when I noticed how close my feet were to the path's edge and the steep plummet down to the dark, leafy ground. I've never been great with heights, and though the top of the mountain was so near I could see the ridge, I finally became aware that I would need to get back down somehow. I felt like the cow some kids put on the third floor of my high school back in the day: confused, frustrated, and without any idea of how to get out of the pickle I was in. It struck me that while a bear bell and water were good items, I really needed trekking poles and hiking boots. My frontal lobe had been switched on after the short break of endorphins and dopamine the shrine and fresh forest air had provided. The green was beautiful, but I was mostly concerned with the mere inches between my feet and a broken neck. 

My descent was slow. Feet shuffling and arms outstretched to grab onto branches when needed, I probably looked like Bambi in that scene where he was learning to walk. The minutes ticked by, but I didn't pause for pretty photos or water. Sweat stuck my shirt to the small of my back, and the bear bell grasped tightly in my fist was the only sound I made as I cautiously chose my footing. Had it really been this steep going up? As careful as I was, it was of no use. The days had been dry, so the dirt was loose and shifted under my feet. I lost hope after a bit while on a particularly slippery slope and bent down to scoot myself, without pride, down the path. There was nothing to grab onto, so my shoulders strained as they tried in vain to keep my body from moving too quickly and toppling over. My hands burned with the scrape of rock and dirt, and my pants snagged on a root somewhere along the way. I'd feel the ache in my shoulders for three days afterward, but at the time, I was just happy to skid to a stop at the bottom of the stretch. The path continued down and around, so I kept going on, eventually finding a silly stick not quite long enough to be an aid for walking, and, hunched over like a wicked witch, I balanced myself and made it safely to the bottom. Once down, I immediately saw a beautiful walking stick that would have served me perfectly. It was probably left by some kind stranger for the next silly idiot who thought it would be fun to climb the mountain unprepared. Next time I go, I'll look for it again.

Next time. It surprises me, too, but I know there will be one. As my feet found level ground and I looked back up at the trees stretching high into the sun above, I felt the challenge of that mountain. It dared me to try again. The cat was gone by the time I crossed back through the torii gate, bowing to the shrine behind, and made my way home. A cold shower, lots of water, and a tasty lunch later, I was already planning my next attempt. 

What I like most about Miyazaki's young heroin, Chihiro, in Spirited Away (actually all of his young heroines) is her stubbornness. She refuses to back down even when put in impossible situations in a land unfamiliar with unfriendly faces. Her love for her family and her desire to prove herself is too strong. You can say that I see a bit of her in myself or myself in her. My first nine months in Japan were like those early scenes in the movie. She and I both stepped unwittingly into a different world. Now, I look around, and I see where I am. I don't want the next nine months to be wasted, to be survival. I failed on my hike, and I am sure I will fail on many other adventures. But, I found a shrine, a cat, a trail, and a goal. My sore shoulders and snagged pants were well worth my trouble. 

So for now, you have your homework (watch a Miyazaki movie), and I have mine (make it up the mountain and back down in one piece). I'd love to hear your thoughts on the films, take any hiking tips you can share, or hear your own stories of being "spirited away." Until then, cheers!

Ending Notes

Listening To: I love music that takes me to another world, so this week's album recommendation has been doing that for me since childhood. Blonde Redhead's 2000 album, Melody of Certain Damaged Lemons, was integral to my childhood soundtrack. It played on the living room stereo on rainy days, in the BGSU art studio where I drew pictures while dad worked sculptural magic, and in the truck on the way to swim practices, swim meets, theater camps, the coffee shops, college classes on snow days, and the city park. Listening to it feels like falling down Alice's rabbit hole. Each song is atmospheric - a kaleidoscope of sounds and colors that only make sense in the moment before fading into their own fever dream. I don't listen to it every day, but every day I do is good. I hope you enjoy it!

Recent Eats: I've been a little uninspired food-wise lately. My energy is going in a different direction right now, which means ice cream for dinner more often than I'd like to admit. I can't justify that every night, though, so when I am not enjoying my favorite chocolate ice cream bar from 7-11, I am making Zara Soba. The buckwheat noodles are cooked according to package instructions before being rinsed in cold water or left in an ice bath. While they cool, cook the dipping sauce: soy sauce, mirin, dashi stock or powder, and water as needed. Once combined and simmered, cool this, too, with some ice cubes. I assemble the noodles on a plate with green onions, grated daikon or sliced cucumber, some sesame seeds, and nori. While salty and sweet, the sauce is also refreshing after being cooled, and the whole thing comes together in about 15 minutes. It is perfect for night light tonight when I have a lot to do and can't allow myself another night of dessert for dinner!