In typical Japanese fashion Harajuku - the fashion capital, is next to the Meji Shrine - the biggest and, so far, most impressive shrine in Japan.
Only a few steps into the Meji shrine you feel the pressure. It's like the weight of a heavy blanket on your lap, or the press of a loved one's hand against your palm. The hand of God pushes down on your head. You feel rooted, joined to the earth, aware of the soles of your feet in a way you've never been before.
The shrine is massive - and it's massive to scale. It not only covers a lot of ground, but everything in it fills proportionately. The gravel path is like a three lane highway. The arches tower stories above your head. The guide posts bear signs the size of lunch trays. It is most obvious in the lanterns. Usually they would reach perhaps to your waist. These rise over your head. you feel as though you have shrunk. That hand that presses you to the earth has, at the same time, shrunk you.
As you enter the inner shrine golden light bounces off the water at the purification sinks. You almost think such water could cleanse your soul. Through the heavy gates, past the thrown-wide doors, you see the monks moving here and there before the altar. They sweep and dust, moving with a swift sense of purpose. They seem unaware of the people gathered behind the railing to pray or watch. The two teenage girls standing off center seem horribly out of place with their voices raised. You want to shush them, but they are not your people, this is not your place.
Walking past the railings you gaze through the slats. At first, the fire extinguishers hidden to one side jar you. It is the year 2009, you are American, the world has moved on outside the Meji Shrine. You smile.
Back in the courtyard the weight still presses. You look up at the trees. They are made to scale. You are not. You are tiny.
Leaving the gate you feel the urge to embrace the gate post. You don't. You're fingers wouldn't touch; besides, you'd look silly.
The pressure eases as you move further down the path, feet crunching on the gravel. Soon you are speaking at a normal volume and thinking at a normal rate. You are leaving but the hand has left something behind - a little seed of silence deep inside, that even the blare of Takeshita Dori can't touch.
I leave you today with a quote from St. Augustine, "Unless you believe, you will not understand."
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