Japanese Ghost Stories: Spirits, Hauntings, and Paranormal Phenomena Page 2
CHAPTER ONE
In Search of the Supernatural
It is an eerie place. A barren moonscape of jagged rocks and no trees. Bubbling sulfur hot springs, some yellow, some blood-red, release the stink of rotten eggs into the gloomy air. Here and there, wisps of steam rise from cracks in stone that can be icy or hot to the touch. A short walk away, at the crater’s center, a stretch of water known as Lake Usori gleams dark and still. Perhaps it is mere fancy, but standing on the shore, aptly called the “shore of paradise,” the feeling is that if one were to set sail for the other side, there would be no return. In this murky water only one species of fish, a type of dace, can survive the acidic content. All around, the gray desolation, broken only by a few, hardy rhododendron bushes, could be a stage prop for an imagined scene from hell, or the most likely place for lost spirits to wander.
Such is the landscape of Mount Osore, a forbidding caldera (its name means “Dread”) located near the tip of the axe-shaped Shimokita Peninsula in Aomori Prefecture, part of Japan’s northern Tohoku region. Long considered sacred, it is supposedly a spot where the living and the dead can meet. In local idiom, those who have died have “gone to the mountain,” and it is at this crater that contact can once again be made with family members who have long since left the human world. Today, this supernatural connection takes place during a special festival held twice a year. The main event is the summer Osorezan Jizo Festival, held in Mutsu City, from July 20–24, with a second festival held from October 9–11. At these times, Mount Osore is lit by some forty lanterns, which flicker ghostlike through the night.
People anxious to communicate with the spirits of dead relatives head here from all over Japan to consult with the area’s shamanistic mediums, traditionally blind, old women known as itako. Usually a girl novice enters itako training before her first menstruation. She then spends several years learning chants, prayers, and a form of fortunetelling. Once she completes the ritual known as kamitsuke, in which she goes into a trance, she is believed to have entered a holy marriage, shinkon, and is thereafter qualified to become an independent practitioner. At the July festival especially, many itako gather at Mount Osore’s main gate to perform for visitors as mediums in an activity called kuchiyose, or speaking in the voice of the dead.
Reasons why people come to this supernatural setting are numerous: a yearning for remembrance, comfort from grief, psychological problems, or simply a desire for advice or reassurance. When she is given specific information such as a name, the medium begins keening in a singsong voice to initiate the trance that can transport her to limbo, where she will search for the designated soul and possibly bring back a message. Sometimes her voice abruptly changes, or her pattern of moving shifts, indicating that spirit contact has been made and a message is coming through. Unfortunately, any communications from the spirit world are relayed in a northern dialect so thick that even natives of this area have difficulty understanding. Nevertheless, many people leave Mount Osore satisfied that they have indeed reached the spirits of, say, dead spouses or children.
Not that all requests are successful, of course. Some visitors, for instance, lose courage at the last moment and instead of calling up souls of dead people whom they knew personally, escape by asking about some well-known Japanese politician instead. One man reportedly asked about Marilyn Monroe, to whom he had no relation at all. Given the mystery of the afterlife, perhaps people feel it’s safer that way.
When the hectic festivals are over, the itako return to their village homes, where they continue to be quietly consulted throughout the year on tasks ranging from calling down household gods (families in this region have personal household gods), to healing the sick. If a person falls ill, an itako, as shaman, can attempt to identify the spirit that is causing the sickness. If she is successful, she rids the body of the intruder, thus curing the patient of the disease.
But shamanic traditions and ancient folk beliefs are not the only religions evident at this centuries-old holy spot. Mount Osore is also home to the Entsuji temple, established in 845, and now run by the Soto sect of Zen Buddhism. This major Zen discipline was founded in Japan by Dogen (1200–53) after his return from China in 1227. The temple buildings are dispersed among the sulfur springs and rock outcrops, and there are also wooden bathhouses, free for anyone to use.
Buddhist influence shows in the numerous Jizo (one of the Bodhisattva) statues encountered between the main temple buildings and Lake Usori. Jizo is the guardian deity of children, so when the summer visitor season ends, his statues are typically covered with offerings of infant-sized clothing, as well as food, drink, and small toys. These gifts are meant to aid him in taking care of children who have died and are struggling to reach the next world. One of his jobs is to make nightly rounds of the rocky riverbed which lies between this world and the next, a stretch of land known as the Sai no Kawara. As he walks around at night, he encourages the yet-homeless spirits, who are busily piling up small mounds of stones, to enter paradise. At the same time, he frightens away the malevolent demons who delight in constantly knocking down the stone piles the spirits have so painstakingly built. Visitors to Mount Osore often add a stone or two to existing piles, or construct new ones, as a way of lending a helping human hand to the unseen spirit world. Because Jizo’s sandals soon wear out on the rocks of the riverbed, offerings of straw sandals are also commonly left at the feet of his statues.
From mystic Mount Osore, it is a 1,380-kilometer journey south, as the crow flies, to a supernatural display of a very different sort.
In the city of Nagasaki on Kyushu, Japan’s third largest island, there is a small cafe called Andersen, situated on the second floor of the building next to the bus terminal at Kawadana Station. Andersen is run by Hisamura Toshihide, a fortyish man of earnest demeanor who claims supernatural ability in the form of psychokinetic power, nengurafii in Japanese. Hisamura’s reputation is such that it now draws people from throughout the country, and there are almost always taxis waiting to whisk a stream of curious visitors to and from Nagasaki Airport, about a thirty-minute ride away. The cafe has become avenue for Hisamura’s psychokinetic shows, staged three times daily, at 10 A.M., 2 P.M., and 6 P.M. With seven tables and one long counter, the cafe can seat only thirty customers, and once it is full, additional visitors must await the next show. Although there is no charge for the show itself, customers must order from a menu that offers standard Japanese-style coffee shop fare at regular prices, including curried rice with beef, and sandwiches. One requirement is that all customers must come with an open mind. Skeptics and naysayers are not welcome, and anyone who voices initial suspicion is asked to leave, a policy Hisamura justifies by noting that he does not charge for admission to the show.
After customers have eaten, the display begins. On a typical day, Hisamura, wearing an apron and rolling up his sleeves, joins his audience. A favorite opener is to ask for a customer’s cigarette, which he places on his palm, where it levitates and jumps. When he places the same cigarette in a glass, it pops right out. Borrowing a watch, he stops the long hand at the time he specifies aloud. Again, using no hands, he sets another watch at a time requested by a customer. Someone in the audience is asked to touch Hisamura, who then slows or stops his own pulse. Another customer draws a picture, which Hisamura duplicates without ever seeing it. One government researcher who watched Hisamura’s performance listed at least twenty-eight observed feats. A spoon bends or becomes a fork. Bolts bend. Coins grow bigger. Dice are controlled. Raw egg appears out of tissue paper. Paper money floats above Hisamura’s hands or moves around inside a glass container.
Is all this really supernatural ability? Some critics dismiss Hisamura as a mere conjurer, and a shabby one at that. Others, among them the chairman of Sony Corporation, are impressed by his talents, convinced that his psychokinetic powers are genuine. A book about Hisamura’s life details the history of his supernatural development and life philosophy, but the jury is still out. Meanwhile, Andersen c
ustomers continue to delight in his shows, enthusiastically oohing and aahing with each new feat. Viewing is limited, however. A notice on the wall requests anyone who has seen the show once to wait at least one month before returning. Someone who has seen him twice already is asked to come back at least three months later. Hisamura’s reasoning is that other people should have a chance to see his free demonstrations of what he calls psychic mind over matter.
In examining the supernatural in Japanese society, it is important to bear in mind that the activities at Mount Osore and Andersen, while not exactly ordinary, are by no means rare. In fact, they are just two examples of the persistent fascination with the supernatural that has characterized Japanese culture from its beginning.
Elements of the supernatural permeate Japan’s folklore and traditions, and a sense of the mysterious remains a dynamic force today. In a bustling megalopolis like Tokyo, where some twelve million people support the economic behemoth that is modern Japan, the search for the supernatural is easily obscured from the casual observer. A closer look, however, reveals that not only does interest in the supernatural endure, but in recent years it has actually increased as Japanese people have sought to combine their economic efforts with a striving for spiritual gratification. In the search for life’s deeper meaning, a probe into the supernatural seems a natural progression.
Take the mass media, for example. The supernatural is one of the most popular topics in the entertainment world, and psychics and mediums make regular television appearances. Books on the paranormal become instant bestsellers, and entire magazines are now devoted to various psychic phenomena. Classes in the supernatural are sought after by everyone from college students to the elderly, and there is a burgeoning network of courses in psychic power enhancement. Some of these are linked to religious groups or associations, long known for their training in supernatural techniques. Others are headed by individuals who have undergone a personal, mystic experience. Indeed, self-appointed gurus of the supernatural abound, and sales of paraphernalia for developing individual psychic potential are brisk.
Each week, it seems, there is a growing number of advertisements for lectures in such subjects as psychokinesis, clairvoyance, telepathy, astral travel, channeling, and even UFO investigations. What’s more, the roster of so-called ordinary people who have become psychic celebrities continues to swell. There is the sarariiman (white-collar, salaried employee) whose unexpectedly awakened healing gifts have brought him nationwide fame. A movie about his life has already been released. Another healer, a former veterinarian, cures a host of ailments using only his hands and eyes. Japanese television cameras follow a well-known medium as she trots the globe in her attempt to contact spirits of the dead.
In this nation where meditating monks exist side by side with staid-suited white-collar workers, esoteric mystic practices have never lost their appeal. Secretive sects and reclusive spiritual groups have existed for centuries, each with its own methods of tapping the supernatural. There is also an established history of bizarre cults, many of which are based on the perceived psychic power of their founders. Shake most religious sects and out will probably fall a leader with paranormal talents that initially attracted followers. In Japan the spiritual quest and supernatural awakening have often been synonymous.
In other words, the search for the supernatural is not a recent phenomenon. A look at the roots of Japanese mythology reveals that Japan brims over with gods and goddesses, resulting in what is known as the “rush hour of the gods.” There are said to be eight million deities, who reside not only in Paradise, but also everywhere on earth. These deities, or kami, live in mountains, rivers, lakes, forests, rocks, and individual homes, according to the pantheon of Shinto, which literally means the “kami way.” The term kami basically is a title for any honorable, sacred spirit, and since all beings have such spirits, anything can be a kami. They are thus believed to be represented by everything from Mount Fuji to the household cooking stove. They are even found in the toilet. In Japan the most lofty to the most mundane is endowed with supernatural properties.
Nor is every deity benevolent. Numerous demons, or oni, are thought of as malignant supernatural forces believed to mirror the dark side of human nature. Destructive to the world of humankind, these incarnate universal forces exert evil influence which must be guarded against or purified. Millions of Japanese people carry small charms to ward off demons or any misfortune they might cause. And a ritual of demon expulsion is carried out by many Japanese housewives as a way of marking the end of winter on a day called setsubun. Demons also represent natural forces such as wind and thunder, the storm spirits with their devastating anger.
To these native animistic beliefs, so closely linked with nature, have been added the deities of Buddhism, a religion which came to Japan around 552, bringing supernatural overtones from India, China, and Korea. A demon queller from China’s Tang dynasty (618–907), for example, was readily adopted into Japanese folk mythology as Shoki. Later Buddhist portrayals of this entity depict him as one of hell’s judges in the “hell scrolls,” or Jigoku-zoshi, of Japan’s Kamakura era (1185–1392). Another import from China were tales of the eight immortals of Taoism. These were believed to be historical personages who had achieved human transcendence through rigorous refinement of body and mind into a supernatural state. As Zen Buddhist thought developed in Japan, these immortals came to symbolize intellectual and spiritual freedom.
Then there are the goblins. Japanese mountain temples often display the mask of the long-nosed goblin known as the tengu. The tengu, which looks like a ferocious Pinocchio, may have been introduced into Japan from India by way of China, and may derive from the Hindu Buddhist guardian Garuda, the mythical bird deity able to transform its shape. A messenger and helper to the gods, Garuda is also an enemy of serpents and demons. At the Todaiji temple in Nara, there are wooden masks of scowling bird heads and long-nosed men that are thought to have been carved in the seventh and eighth centuries. Now protected as “National Treasures,” such masks were once used in gigaku performances, religious dances which originated in Tibet and India and arrived in Japan by way of Korea in 612. Although no longer danced today, gigaku were once considered the proper musical accompaniment to prayer in Japan’s Buddhist temples.
With its magical powers, the tengu figures prominently in earlier Japanese folk tales and legends, and there are also close ties to Buddhist lore. In Japan, the tengu lost some of its fearsome and revered nature, becoming an impish goblin among whose favorite tricks was changing into the form of a Buddhist priest or nun, or even Buddha. In such guises, it would waylay unsuspecting monks, or lead them down the wrong path. Japanese tengu also evolved into two distinct types: karasu tengu, a crow-headed figure which has a body covered by feathers and long claws in the place of fingers and toes; and konoha tengu, the long-nosed kind. During the twelfth century, the concept of “ tengu road” came to mean punishment in the form of exile for hypocritical or vainglorious Buddhist priests. Some say tengu are actually reincarnations of wicked priests who are being punished for being too proud or greedy.
Tengu are also associated with Japan’s mountain priests or yamabushi, known even now for their magical, ascetic practices on holy mountains. In fact, tengu often wear the hexagonal hats of yamabushi and carry feather fans which they use for making themselves invisible or working other magic. Because these goblins dwell in mountains or high forests, rural villagers still make offerings to them before cutting down trees, or hold festivals in their honor. Trees themselves are thought to contain spirits that are usually benevolent, but sometimes inimical to human beings, so it is well to appease them, too, just in case.
Sometimes tengu are thought to cause illness, and they are said to have haunted Hojo Takatoki (1303-33), who committed suicide as the last Hojo regent of the Kamakura bakufu, or military government. Strongly criticized for preferring drinking to politics, in his later years he was constantly plagued by nightmares of aggressive tengu. Min
amoto no Yoshitsune (1159–89), on the other hand, is said to have found tengu to be extremely helpful; legend has it that they taught him the secrets of martial arts and military strategy. Perhaps the greatest of all Japan’s popular heroes, Yoshitsune is celebrated in the Heike Monogatari (Tale of the Heike), created in the early thirteenth century. This epic war tale, which has much in common with the European Song of Roland, recounts the battle between the Heike and Minamoto clans, with Yoshitsune fighting for the victory of the Genji over the Taira. Recited to successive generations of listeners, the Heike Monogatari illustrates idealized warrior-class behavior against a backdrop of Buddhist attitudes and ethics.
At the age of seven, Minamoto no Yoshitsune was sent to study at the temple founded in 770 on Kyoto’s Mount Kurama. There, in the Valley of Sojo, were said to have lived tengu, ruled over by an old king with white hair and a long, flowing beard. Yoshitsune’s early lessons from tengu teachers are supposed to have resulted in an illustrious military career that continued until his thirty-second year, when, rather than face defeat at Takadachi, in modern-day Iwate Prefecture, he killed his wife and children, set his castle on fire, and committed suicide.
While tengu and demon quellers were imported, an entity uniquely native to Japan is the kappa. This curious creature has a beaked mouth, a scaly body covered by a tortoise shell, and a hollow on the crown of its head filled with a 29 magical liquid from which it derives its strength and supernatural powers. Kappa can have quite evil intentions, luring children and washerwomen into the water and drowning them. To forestall kappa malevolence, however, one need only bow upon greeting it. Being Japanese, the kappa will immediately bow in return, thereby tipping out the magical fluid and rendering itself helpless. Or, one can try to tame a kappa by offering its favorite food, cucumber.