An Autumn Walk at Chusonji The Cedar-Lined Approach and the Wish Behind Konjikido

I was making my way slowly down the path near Konjikido. Morning light slipped between the cedar trunks, and fallen leaves dotted the stone paving. I watched where I put my feet, then looked up—and one enormous trunk stood right beside me. The hem of my light coat swayed as I walked. Thinking about Konjikido, which I'd just seen, I wanted to stay on that path a little longer.

Konjikido was topped out in 1124 by Kiyohira, the founder of the Oshu Fujiwara clan. I'd heard it still preserves the look of Chusonji as it was when the temple was first established, but when I saw it for myself, the first thing that caught my eye was the fine detail. There was more than the gleam of gold leaf: mother-of-pearl inlay and other ornaments were layered throughout. There was so much I wanted to take in that I couldn't settle for calling it simply “beautiful.”

I heard the mother-of-pearl inlay is made from green turban shell. They use the shell to make ornaments for a temple hall like this. Something from the sea decorating a hall here in the hills of Hiraizumi—that connection made me want to look at each little detail for longer. I was amazed, too, that it had been brought all this way and survived.

Kiyohira's wish for Konjikido was to give a tangible form to the Pure Land, the Buddhist paradise. He hoped to guide to the Pure Land the souls of people who died in battle and other living beings who had lost their lives, and to bring peace to this region. I'd assumed it was famous because of its brilliance, so that story stayed with me. I wanted to carry home both the beauty of the ornaments and the wish behind them.

Back outside, walking among the cedars, I felt a different kind of quiet from the stillness inside the hall. The old cedars along the approach are said to have been planted by the Date clan in the Edo period. Konjikido was built in one era, the cedars were planted in another, and this place has endured through all the years in between. I stopped beside the bamboo fence and looked down at the leaves. Even the time spent walking through the temple grounds in autumn felt connected to the history.

As I walked down the stone path, I remembered the Hiraizumi mochi feast served near the temple gate. I'd heard it comes with more than just sweet red bean and zunda—there are ginger and ozoni, too—and found myself wondering which to try first. First the hall, then a walk among the cedars, and finally mochi. For now, I'd rather linger in town than hurry off to the next stop. I looked up from the fallen leaves and continued on at an easy pace.