Binzuru

Binzuru was one of the arhats. Arhats are beings who have attained a state of spiritual liberation through direct understanding of the Buddha’s teachings. They are believed to be entirely free from suffering, desire, and the cycle of rebirth (samsara). Although they are not buddhas, they have reached enlightenment and are characterised by deep wisdom and spiritual purity.

In Buddhism, particularly in China, Japan and Tibet, a tradition developed around the veneration of the Sixteen (or Eighteen) Arhats. According to legend, these were disciples of Shakyamuni Buddha who were entrusted with the task of preserving and protecting the Dharma – that is, the Buddha’s teaching, the cosmic law, and the spiritual path leading to liberation. Dharma is not merely a set of moral rules; it is also the universal truth about the nature of reality, which the practitioner is meant to realise and embody. Statues of the arhats are commonly found in temples. They are portrayed as elderly monks, each with a distinctive facial expression, gesture or attribute, symbolising various aspects of spiritual practice – from contemplation to acts of compassion.

One of the most revered arhats in Japan is Binzuru, known in Sanskrit as Pindola Bharadvaja. According to legend, he was one of the Buddha’s most gifted disciples, endowed with great spiritual powers. However, he used these abilities inappropriately – showing off before others, for instance by levitating. The Buddha rebuked him, and as a form of spiritual obligation, assigned him the task of remaining in the world to help people – most notably through healing.

In Japan, Binzuru is often depicted as an elderly monk with a kind and gentle expression. He is typically shown sitting in a meditative pose, holding a cane and a beggar’s bowl.

It is believed that he has the power to cure illnesses and alleviate suffering, and many people visit his shrines and temples to pray for healing and good health. One popular practice associated with Binzuru is the rubbing of his statue. It is believed that by rubbing the statue in the spot corresponding to one’s own ailment, one can transfer Binzuru’s healing power to themselves or to a loved one who is ill. His statue is often worn smooth, polished, and draped with cloths as a sign of reverence and gratitude.

In Tōdai-Ji Temple in Nara Binzuru wears an orange robe, which is a traditional color for Buddhist monks in Japan and other Asian countries. The color orange is considered significant in Buddhism, as it represents the color of the robes worn by the Buddha and his followers. It is also said to represent the qualities of wisdom, humility, and detachment from material possessions. The orange robe worn by Binzuru is thus a symbol of his status as a Buddhist monk and his dedication to the practice of the Buddhist teachings. It is also believed to represent his compassion and willingness to help those in need, as Buddhist monks are known for their role in providing spiritual guidance and support to their communities.

Binzuru

Torii, a gate to a sacred place

One of the first Japanese words you learn, while visiting a shrine or monastery is torii (nouns in Japanese are used only in the singular form). Torii is a Japanese kind of symbolic gate marking the line, at which you trespass from the profane to the sacred ground. It is usually placed at an entrance to a Shinto shrine. We saw, however, torii in some of the Buddhist temples, as well. In more prominent shrines or monasteries, you will also find gates that mark the sacred ground that you recognize as a gate. But its construction is by far not like on the photo below. These are really solid and quite big gates. Similar symbolic gates may also be found in other Asian countries.

A ‘typical’ torii, Kyoto

Torii, in general, is made of two pillars and two horizontal bars. The construction may be, however, more complicated or a simpler one. A very simple torii may be made of only two posts linked with a rope (called shimenawa). Shimenawa may also be an addition to the traditional construction (as on the photo above). Torii may be made of wood, or stone, or concrete, or other materials. The most distinctive ones are those made of wood and painted with a red or orange tint (vermilion). Only some parts of a torii like footing and/or the upper lintel are painted black.

Torii, as well as other buildings in Shinto shrines or in Buddhist temples, are often (by far these are however not all of them) covered with red (orange) tint called vermilion. This kind of tint contains mercury (mercuric sulfides), the size of which particles is decisive for the color. The bigger the particles, the more reddish the tint. The tint is said to protect the wood against insects, but this is not confirmed by all sources. The protection may be somewhat symbolic as the red color is told to protect against demons and illness. The symbolism is pretty much the same as of orange (red) clothing put on figures (statues).

There can be a couple or quite many of torii gates in a shrine. They can be of different sizes. Each torii may mark the trespassing point to the following another sacred space.

Torii may also play a different role. In Fushimi Inari Taisha shrine complex in Kyoto called also Oinarisan) torii are placed one after another forming long but long corridors. Walking beneath you feel like being in a tunnel. The torii in Oinarisan do not mark the sacred land. They had been offered to its deity by worshipers as a thank you for good fortune.

Vermilion torii path, one of many in Fushimi Inari Taisha shrine complex, Kyoto.

Another photo made in Fushimi Inari Taisha. Behind a stone, a torii that marks the entrance to the next section of the sacred land. You can see small vermilion torii that had been offered as a gesture of gratitude, like that big torii on the photo above.

Torii, a gate to a sacred place

Shukubo. The Koyasan Temple Stay Experience

It’s Christmas Eve. A couple of hours ago – around 9 p.m. – I was driving home from a crowded mall. There was no snow, just rain, which felt unusual for Christmas. But the streets were quiet, almost empty. A peaceful drive, with cheerful Christmas songs playing on the radio. As I drove, I found myself thinking about my next trip. Christmas will be spent with family, but New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day I’ll spend with friends – beyond the Arctic Circle in Norway. A bit odd, perhaps – a winter trip to the far North. But in a way, we’ll be having summer in the middle of winter. In just one month, it’ll be the end of the world again – this time in the Southern Hemisphere. In both Norway and New Zealand, I’ll reunite with people I traveled with to Japan last year.

And speaking of that trip, I just realized there’s one place we visited in Japan that I haven’t written about yet on this blog: a sacred mountain called Koyasan. A very different part of the world. They don’t celebrate Christmas there, that’s for sure. Still, I somehow associate it with calmness and serenity.

Belltower at the main temple complex on Mount Koya – Kongōbu-ji.
The only white structure we saw during our entire trip to Japan.

Koyasan, also known as Mount Koya, is the main seat of the Shingon sect, one of the most important schools of Buddhism in Japan. Founded in the early 9th century, Shingon is a form of esoteric Buddhism, known for its use of mantras, rituals, and symbolic imagery as paths to enlightenment. The area is visited by both Japanese pilgrims and foreign tourists, many of whom stay overnight to experience a Buddhist temple lodging – called shukubo in Japanese. The sect was established over a thousand years ago by Kōbō-Daishi, also known as Kūkai (774–835), a Japanese monk, scholar, and mystic. It was he who chose Mount Koya as the secluded and sacred site for the sect’s spiritual headquarters. Today, his mausoleum in Koyasan remains one of the most revered pilgrimage destinations in the country.

Traveling through Japan, you end up visiting many shrines and temples. But there’s a difference between simply visiting… and spending the night. Like many others, we booked an overnight stay in one of the many Buddhist monasteries on Mount Koya. The place is genuinely secluded and remarkably quiet. To reach it, we had to take a mountain railway train – a small local line that slowly carried us up the slope into the mountains.

The train to Mount Koya. The journey lasts a bit more than five minutes.

When we arrived at the Mount Koya railway station, we lingered for a short while. But soon, a local Japanese man approached us and urged us to hurry and catch the bus. We already knew that public transport outside Japan’s big cities tends to shut down by late afternoon. But in Koyasan, the last bus from the station left around 3 p.m. It was packed with tourists, all heading off to experience a night in a Buddhist monastery.

We looked around. The streets of Koya Town were tranquil, almost as if life had come to a standstill.

Koyatown. The first impression. A quiet street. 16:15.

To be honest, my expectations for the shukubo experience were a bit different. I had imagined a place full of monks in orange robes – just like in so many films about Buddhist life – with us quietly standing behind them, allowed only to observe their rituals from a respectful distance. I think I was inspired at the time by an episode of House of Cards, where Buddhist monks were performing a slow, meditative ritual, creating a picture out of colored sand on a table. After a month of careful work, the image was swept away, the sand placed into a pot, and finally poured into a river as part of a ceremonial release.

Our monastery experience wasn’t quite like that. The sect we were staying with turned out to be very small. In fact, we interacted with only one monk and one novice (to use a more European term). We were told that a Buddhist sect can be tiny, and I got the impression that this was, at least in part, also a form of cultural experience for visitors – in a place considered sacred for centuries.

Upon arrival, we were shown to our private quarters – there were only eight guest rooms in our section of the monastery – and then invited to a tea ceremony, during which our monk host explained the house rules. We learned that in about two hours we’d be served a vegetarian meal, followed by a guided visit to Kongobuji Temple, the oldest temple complex in Koyasan. After that, another vegetarian meal would be served. The night curfew was set for 10 p.m., and the next morning, at 6 a.m., we were to attend a Buddhist ceremony.

Since we hadn’t eaten anything since early morning in Kyoto, we decided to grab a bite at a local restaurant. Knowing we had two meals awaiting us at the monastery, we kept it light. In hindsight, that turned out to be a very good idea. That evening, we were served an array of vegetarian delicacies – beautifully presented, but light and subtle in flavor. For us, it was less about being full and more about experiencing Japanese vegetarian cuisine in its traditional, monastic form.

Below are a few photos of our lodging and the meals we were served.

Our monastery experience in Koyasan.
Quiet. Soothing. We didn’t exactly obey the curfew – it felt too early for us.
But imagine fourteen people sitting quietly in one cell, spending the late evening whispering to each other.

In the afternoon and early evening, we had time to explore a bit of Koya Town. There was a kind of small city center, with most of the buildings in traditional Japanese style. Many of them seemed to be connected in some way to monastic life. Koyasan revealed itself as a truly secluded place, where it feels natural to slow down… and take plenty of photos of its picturesque architecture, surrounded by lush greenery. I think it was there that I saw, for the first time, a Japanese person carefully plucking grass from a moss-covered lawn – a small but somehow striking detail.

Just a glimpse of Koyasan and its main temple complex.
It wasn’t particularly difficult to take photos without anyone in the frame – even in the early afternoon.

The first temple complex in Koyasan during our late evening walk. The building is the Kondo Hall. Significant ceremonies are held there.
If I had to do something differently during our evening in Koyasan, I would have taken a tripod with me to the complex. The main buildings are clearly visible, but most of the time you walk along paths marked by small lamps, surrounded by darkness.
As Koyasan is truly secluded, and no other lights are visible in the night, the atmosphere and views are incredible.

I don’t have any photographs from our evening or early morning at the monastery. It felt too private to document. That evening, a small communal bath was made available to us. There were only a few guests staying in our part of the monastery – just two other women, who we think were from the Netherlands. They used the bath earlier, so we had it to ourselves. The hot jacuzzi was a welcome relief for our muscles. After ten days of intense sightseeing and long travel, it felt genuinely soothing. Still, two people from our group asked for a chance to bathe separately, so we took turns. Because of the 10 p.m. curfew, we had to leave the bath earlier than we would have liked. In the morning, we were only allowed to use a shared restroomno showers were available.

The next morning, we were expected to wake up early to attend a religious ceremony held in the sacred part of the monastery. As in many other Buddhist temples and monasteries, we were not allowed to bring cameras – a rule we had already encountered elsewhere. The small hall was dimly lit and filled with an intense, lingering scent. We began with a cleansing ritual, which involved clapping hands, fragrant smoke, and rubbing ash into our palms. Then came the recitation of sutras – a form of sacred teachings or wisdom texts. Our host gave us printed copies in English, which we were asked to recite softly, in a steady, rhythmic voice. The entire ceremony lasted about an hour. I had still hoped we might see more monks, but in the end, it was just our small group and our monk host. There were around thirty people in the hall, most of them appearing to be European or American. Only one Japanese couple was present.

We left the monastery around 10 a.m., collecting our luggage from the main storage area. From there, we set out to visit one of the oldest cemeteries in Japan, located near the resting place of Kōbō-Daishi. The cemetery is enormous and ancient, with many gravestones dating back several centuries. Wandering among the moss-covered monuments and towering cedar trees, you feel the deep sense of history and reverence that surrounds the site.

At the Okunoin cemetery.

Later, around 1 p.m., we boarded the train down the mountain and began our journey back to Tokyo.

Shukubo. The Koyasan Temple Stay Experience