The walk from the rented house to the Philosopher’s Path is about six kilometers. I wander along city streets and through neighborhoods to climb the short hill to the beginning of the Path. On this day, the sun is out, the sky hazey with no breeze. The humidity hits 88% with the temperature reaching 35 degrees in the shade. I’m walking along the Path, listening to the water in the canal mumble its sweet song as carp swim along the rock and concrete banks of the stream.

As I take my first steps onto the Path, I pull out a copy of Matsuo Basho’s Narrow Road to the Interior. Written in 1689, Basho’s story and the haiku of his travels represent engagement with friends, fellow travelers, and the world Basho dearly loved to write about. While the time and space of this book does not really conform to the time and place I’m in, I try to imagine the poet walking this path toward GIngaku-ji and wonder at how he might express himself on this day in Kyoto.

This rabbit-ear iris

inspires me to compose

another haiku

Matsuo Basho. Narrow Road to the Interior. Boulder: Shamble Publications. 1998, 125.

I read this haiku and laughed a bit at the comedy of this one blurb of writing. It brings a smile to my face and my thoughts. I walk, slowly and alone, on stone pavers spaced oddly for my gait. The path is surrounded by verdant shrubs and bushes as well as small cherry trees that bloom in the Spring to light up the shaded, narrow trail.

The thing is, I’ve visited this place four times before today, and I remember many of the steps along the way. In fact, as I walk, the memories of this place flood back into my mind. I remember a cat sitting on one of the many bridges that cross the canal as well as people walking their dogs along the way. The slight shock of memory always reminds me of other past places and events and, for a moment, I’m taken away back into some past memory. With effort, I bring my thoughts back to this moment and try to revel in this experience.

It’s hard, however, to stay in the moment. So many things try to force their way into my mind: questions about relationships, money, health and well being, my children, and every thing else you can imagine. I try to let these thoughts pass. Working at detachment or non-attachment, I watch a few of these thoughts scoot away. Some, however, stick. That’s when it becomes harder. I shake my mind imagining that I can break free from the tacky, gooey thought. I focus on my photography and use distraction as my tool for letting go. It works.

Clouds start to form in the sky overhead and the sun dims. I see in front of me one of the bridges that cross the canal and see, to my surprise and joy, an elderly man I met years before helping children make little leaf boats to drop in the canal. His joy is palpable and I watch as he helps each kid make the boat and then asks to use the camera to photograph the creation. Years before, he helped me make a small boat and he dropped his and mine together to see who would win. It was a wonderful moment.

Continuing on my way, I’m struck by the memories of the past that again rise in my mind. Thoughts of life in the summer of 2018 come with force and again I have to deflect and refocus on the walk. I stop at the next bridge and read another series of haikus. I randomly open the text and read,

Finding solace in reading someone else’s words, thoughts, and ideas has been something quite important to me over the years and I’m especially caught by the words and thoughts communicated by Basho over these centuries and lifetimes that separate us. I’m aware of the privileged spot I hold in this world and to be where I am when I am and who I am, right now, is a gift I never earned.

I continue the walk and reach the end of the Path, falling into Imadegawa-dori and turning right, I head up the hill to the entrance of the Temple complex. I pass souvenir shops and my favorite Onigiri place in Kyoto here on the road.

A reach the entrance to the temple, pay my fee, and enter the grounds. Seat drips off my head and the heat is strong. My shirt is soaked and I’m sure I look ridiculous with shoulder bags slung across my back, wet from the sweat my body’s creating. The stillness in the air and the humidity doesn’t really allow the sweat to evaporate quickly and so I’m a puddle of humanity walking the dirt trails.

I’ve photographed this temple many times and today I’m determined to shoot more slowly and deliberately. It’s hard because of the sweat and the heat and the people. Still, I stop and shoot. I see this view through my camera’s lens.

I’ve stood here before, looking at this scene in June 2018, the last time I visited. The look is similar and I check back into my photos from years ago and find this one; a wide angle view of the same place. I notice the differences – more natural color, less dramatic lighting as the sky is dull in 2023, the sun more present in 2018.

After a while, I shoot a variety of places in the area and finally make my way to Onigiri. The day has been joyous and wonderful, quiet, and perfect. Days like these rarely come and I’m lucky to have experienced these moments.

May you be happy, May you be well.