Ise – Japan’s Most Sacred Shrine

I thought a fitting end to my journey in Japan – and a good beginning for my continuing journey in the US – would be to visit Japan’s most sacred shrine in Ise, about 3 ½ hours by train southwest of Tokyo.   It’s actually nearer Kyoto, but it took me a while to realize this was an important trip to make.

 

A small shrine in the trees at Ise

The Ise Grand Shrine (“Ise jingu”) is so important because it is both Shinto’s most sacred shrine and the shrine of the Imperial Family.   It is dedicated to the sun goddess, Amaterasu-oomikami, from whom the Imperial Family is directly descended, according to Shinto mythology.  Naiku, the Inner Shrine at Ise, is said to house the Sacred Mirror, one of three sacred objects Amaterasu gave her grandson, Ninigi (the others are kept in other shrines).  Ninigi, in turn, is believed to be the great-grandfather of Jimmu, who became Japan’s first emperor in 7^th century BC.   As a result, Ise’s high priest or priestess comes from the Imperial Family.

Crossing the bridge into the Ise shrine complex

Uji Bridge

A key feature of Ise is that its two main shrines – Naiku and Geku, dedicated to the god of agriculture and industry – and the Uji bridge are rebuilt every twenty years.  The rebuilding symbolizes the Shinto belief in death and renewal and the impermanence of all things.  By using traditional techniques and building to exact specifications, the shrines are always both new and old, fresh and original. The last rebuilding occurred in 1993, so this year will be the next, and 62^nd, renewal. (Yes, that’s 1,240 years.)

Ise is actually a complex of 125 shrines located in a 13,000-acre forest of cedar and cypress trees.  The trees are quite impressive – some are 3-4 feet in diameter and many stories tall.  My favorite was a tree whose bark was leather-smooth from the hands of people who had stroked it over the years.  You could almost feel the tree’s energy when you touched it.  

 

In entering the complex,  people pass under a simple wood torii to cross the Uji bridge, then under another torii before they purify themselves at a large covered pool.  They walk up wide gravel paths among the trees to the shrines, passing under a few other torii along the way.  The shrines themselves are simple and unadorned, made of cypress with steep thick thatched roofs. They reminded me of the simplicity and elegance I saw in the Emperor and Empress at last year’s memorial service for the 2011 earthquake disaster.  Their roofs, peaked with supports crossing and angling upward at each end, seemed reminiscent of samurai helmets.  Because they are so sacred, virtually all are closed to the public.

Naiku is at the top of a series of wide stone steps.  It is hidden behind a wooden fence, with only its roofs visible.  I followed the crowd there, behind a group of pink-shirted pilgrims, slowly and patiently moving forward.  Line by line, five or six came to a curtained opening in the wall, made a coin offering, bowed twice, clapped twice, prayed and bowed again before turning to leave. It was simple and moving.