Smartphones and Ginkakuji Temple, or the margins of memory
Smartphones and Ginkakuji Temple, or the margins of memory
Recently, when I go to Kyoto, I try not to look at my smartphone as much as possible.
Of course, map apps are useful and can help you find cafes.
However, it is so convenient that before you know it, the scenery in front of you feels like it is on a screen somewhere far away.
So today I decided to tuck my smartphone away in my bag and walk to Ginkakuji Temple.
The Philosopher's Path was enveloped in the quietness typical of late autumn.
Most of the autumn leaves have fallen, but only a few rust-colored leaves remain on the branches.
The water in the canal flowed quietly, and the air had a chill to it, just before winter approached.
I sat down on a bench and looked up at the sky through the bare branches.
The clouds are slowly passing by.
The speed is just right.
When we arrived at Ginkakuji Temple, we saw several tourists wearing scarves taking photos.
People's breath was floating in the air, and some had their coat collars turned up.
I slipped past them and stood in the white sand garden.
The "Kogetsudai" is still there today.
A mountain to wait for the moon.
It was definitely there when I came here with my father at the end of the Showa era.
My father is no longer with us, but I suddenly felt as if his voice from that time was ringing in the back of my ears.
"This is to reflect the moonlight."
I still remember those words.
And for some reason, I can even remember the smell of the air at that time.
Memories transcend time and suddenly arise.
It's like the needle on an old record suddenly goes back to a certain song.
As I stood in front of the Kannon Hall, I heard the sound of smartphone shutters clicking from all around.
Everybody's trying to record something.
But I just stopped and closed my eyes.
The sound of the wind, the birds singing, the laughter of children in the distance.
That alone was enough.
After that, I walked to Nanzenji Temple.
On the way, we passed Eikando Temple and saw that most of the autumn leaves had already fallen.
The few red leaves remaining on the branches were swaying in the wind.
I thought about taking out my phone and taking a picture, but decided against it.
Instead, I decided to burn it into my memory.
Scenes in memory last much longer than photographs.
Even if it fades little by little, its ambiguity is what makes it so moving.
When I climbed up to the Sanmon Gate of Nanzenji Temple, the city of Kyoto spread out before me.
The ridge of Mount Hiei blended into the pale sky, and the rows of roofs were bathed in the late autumn light.
I took a paperback out of my pocket and flipped through the pages.
Virginia Woolf's "To the Lighthouse."
I've read this book many times, but each time I read it, the flow of time feels different.
Maybe it's because my own memories are slowly changing.
We also stopped by Honen-in Temple.
The patterns on the white sand altar were slightly blurred by the morning frost.
The way it faded was somehow like a person's memory.
I can't remember exactly, but it was definitely there.
A Showa-era coffee shop, the low table at my grandmother's house, Yuming's voice on the radio.
Such things still linger faintly in the landscape of Kyoto.
At night, I went into a cafe in Demachiyanagi.
There are fewer and fewer traditional coffee shops these days, but this one has miraculously survived.
Wooden chairs, a thick menu, and filter-drip coffee.
On the other side of the counter, the master was quietly grinding beans.
I sat at a window seat and ordered mint tea instead of a cigarette.
Times have changed, but the quality of the silence seems to have remained the same.
Outside, a couple who appeared to be university students were laughing while looking at their smartphones.
Their laughter seemed to come from somewhere far away.
As I felt the warmth remaining at the bottom of the cup in my palm, I suddenly thought to myself.
The Kyoto of those days may no longer exist.
But that's okay.
The Kyoto I have in my memories lives quietly within me.
The white sand of Ginkakuji Temple, the Sanmon Gate of Nanzenji Temple, the moss of Honen-in Temple, and the cafes of Demachiyanagi.
They have become the "blank space" within me and are still breathing today.
On the way home, I walked along the banks of the Kamo River.
On the surface of the river, it was not the light of a smartphone but the lights of the city that were flickering.
I put my hands in my pockets and walked slowly.
The wind is getting a little cold.
Winter is just around the corner.
But the faint light of that afternoon at Ginkakuji Temple still lingers within me.
This essay is a creative work set in modern-day Kyoto.
Ginkakuji Temple, the Philosopher's Path, the cafes of Demachiyanagi - memories of the Showa era quietly live on in this tranquil landscape.
Although the character is not a real person, the work depicts the nostalgia and tranquility that resides in everyone's heart.