Work Text:
Summer homework - Written Essay
Submitted by: Iki Hiyori
Class: 1-2
Eyes of Heaven
That summer was the hottest summer of my life. A child lit a bonfire under a Torii gate in the hills below the shrine of Matsunoo-Taisha but in the lurid heat, it spread like wildfire, engulfing everything in its path. The flames licked up the entrance of the gate, seeking no permission from the gods beyond, taking over the shrine. But miraculously, instead of crumbling to pieces, the shrine was healed of all the old cracks; the crevices filled, the foundation stronger than ever. The lush foliage surrounding the old abode of the gods shone in vibrance, the birds sang songs of life, the koi in the ponds gleamed in their bright colors. The shrine was burning, burning with health, burning with life.
That summer, a child – a child in his actions, a boy in appearance, a man in his heart and god in spirit – lit a bonfire in my veins and in seconds, my heart was on fire. My heart was truly alive.
The summer starts with a torrid heat – a heat like never before felt, and I am told by the blue-eyed god that there would be a week-long summer festival in the shrine of Matsunoo-Taisha beyond the hills of Arashiyama. He tells me in an excited, childish tone that there would be a bonfire and fireworks and it's obvious he wants to go. I act surprised, like I don't know about it but of course I do. Silently clutching the balled-up poster behind my back, my fingers clenching and unclenching the creased paper, I think for a moment before finally placing it in front of him, smoothing out the lines. Averting my gaze, I tell him embarrassedly that I think we should go too. A wide smile breaks out on his face and he cocks his head. He asks me how long I've been hiding the poster. I mumble something incoherently and he throws his head back and laughs – a laugh so deep, so full of life and energy - and teases me about it for the next entire week. He never asks me, he never brings it up, but it's understood that we would climb the trails of Arashiyama – just the two of us.
And so, the heat begins. The journey is tiring and long but we enjoy every single bit of it. The sun beats down mercilessly but the tall trees of the mountain offer us cool shade. We rest at every spring, dip our feet into the sparkling cold water, wash our faces and set back on track. Between bickering, arguing and violently getting on each-other's nerves, sometimes I end up falling asleep and he carries me on his back, without complaint. I am heavy and the trail is steep, but it's nothing to him – a god of his bearing.
When we reach the shrine, night has fallen and the fireflies are out. The vibrations of the festival's introductory drums reverberate under our feet and lanterns adorn the sides of the hills. Miniature Torii gates and stone sculptures of the Great Buddha scatter a table heavy under the ashes of incense. The main shrine is lit in all its glory and the start of the summer festival steeps our bodies in excitement. Our small bags are burdened with the weight of our traditional clothes but I feel the flurry of excitement as I picture him – magnificent in his dark robes, crafted by his own hands.
The throng of people grows stronger with every passing minute and so he suggests we wash ourselves in the sacred pond. I hiss at him, momentarily forgetting his true nature, that only the gods of the temple are allowed in there and he raises an eyebrow immediately. Of course. He is a god himself. But then what about me, I ask. He raises his other eyebrow and points at my limp body lying by the side and I sheepishly realize I've slipped out once again. Spirits and phantoms will be okay, he says as I am now a creature of the far-shore. And I will be with him, so the sacred water will do me no harm, he adds, with a twinkle in his eye and I slap his shoulder in embarrassment and annoyance.
It evades my notice at the beginning but as we quietly walk away from the crowd and into the thick forest behind the shrine, I notice it. I have come to this shrine many times before but it has always been quiet – as most shrines always are, quiet and peaceful. But now, with each step he takes in front of me, the life within the trees and hills comes alive. It is night, but the birds of daylight peek through the dark leaves and chirp. The frogs croak sounds of welcome and the fireflies flit in and out of the darkness, lighting a path to the sacred pond. As my eyes take in the new vibrance of life, it hits me – the trees, the earth, the forest, the hills and the shrine itself – is alive. It is alive because of the god walking in front of me, of his bare feet digging through the sacred grass during the shrine's most celebratory time. The shrine of Matsunoo-Taisha is welcoming him.
We arrive at the sacred pond – a body of water held within a large depression between the hills – with water so still it resembles a polished mirror. His eyes momentarily meet mine in the dim moonlight and I look to the grassy earth, my ears burning red. I see his clothes pile around his feet and in the next few seconds, he is already in the water. I look at him then, his head above the water, his shoulders barely visible and there it is – his cheeks are scarlet. The water is cold so it is not that. We both know why the blood is rushing to our faces.
Respectfully and without a word, he turns his back to me, the signal for me to get into the water as well. With fumbling fingers and shaky breaths, my clothes pool to the floor and I step into the glimmering water and bury myself to my chin. He turns his head slightly, asks me if I'm in and then turns back to face me. It is quiet, except for the ripples of the water between us and for the twinkles of the fireflies – but when our eyes lock, my heart hammers inside my chest so loudly I am scared he can hear it. He keeps his gaze on me, refusing to look away and even though we are 5 feet apart, I squirm from the intensity of his eyes.
Because when the eyes of a god look into yours, you are spellbound.
The sacred pond, so still and calm, now glistens in heavenly light. With him at one end, resting his head on the boulder behind his back, the koi fish appear as if they were in hiding all along and swim around us in joy. I cannot see anything of him save for his head, and cannot see myself under the water, but the water glows as if the moon were itself immersed in it. I look back at him and his face is resplendent with the radiance of a thousand shining moons. I can hardly breathe.
Afterwards, we wear our summer festival clothes and I change behind the boulder as he patiently waits for me to finish. I am not very good at wearing a yukata on my own as the crisp cotton slips between my fingers many times. By the time I am done with my obi and emerge, he is already dressed. My heartbeat screeches to a stop as my eyes take in the splendor of his navy blue hakama, and silvery white haori. Robes fit for Takamagahara. The wind rustles through his dark locks and his porcelain skin and bright blue eyes contrast strongly with the inky blackness of the night. I am about to tell him he looks magnificent, but burst out in laughter instead – he has worn his haori inside out. He blushes a deep red and scrambles to put it on right but when I offer to tie the strings in a bow, his presence pulls me in – like the gravity of the moon on the tides.
A sea of lanterns greets us and pungent smoke assaults our lungs when we make our way out of the forest. The drumbeat crescendos and seems to almost shake the earth under our feet. The hills are adorned with brightly lit shops and food stalls, cascading down the rolling slope like jewels in the dark. Amidst the deep sounds of chanting from the main shrine, laughter and shouts echo in our ears. He weaves us through the dense crowd, seen by the occasional people who happen to look hard enough – and what a sight he is. I cannot help but smile – I am sure that elderly couple by the incense pot felt like they had a glimpse of god himself.
A loud bell tolls and temple dinner is served. Like an excited child, he tugs me to collect our share on the bamboo plates and then leads us to a quiet corner of the temple garden – to the shrine of Tsukuyomi himself. As we eat the food blessed by the deities, spirits of the Inari sit around him, their tails swishing in ghostly wisps – and so do children in golden robes. I watch and listen as he animatedly tells them stories of legendary battles high up in Takamagahara – to the enamoured children dressed in gold; children nobody else could see; children whose mortal bodies were laid to rest deep inside the earth centuries ago.
He insists we should walk down the hill and visit each of the stalls – I tell him we should watch the bonfire ceremony first. We have a small argument but he whines and pouts and looks at me with those eyes – eyes so strikingly blue – that he gets his way. Like a 5-year-old toddler, he clutches my wrist and whisks me down the hills, our wooden sandals thudding on the over-trodden pathway, his ponytail flying in the summer night breeze. In the red and golden lights above us, the stalls are filled with the smells of delectable foods, candy-apples and sake. We buy kitsune masks and pinwheels and run down the festive path, colliding with children racing past us and stumbling into each other. We don't know how it starts, but suddenly I'm chasing him, and then he's chasing me and we are huffing and panting, lungs bursting and our faces red, before we stuff ourselves with food.
I buy us some sparklers while he wastes 1000 yen on a crystal key chain that he stubbornly insists will bring him good luck. When I point out dryly that it's made of cheap plastic, he sulks in a corner, heartbroken. He laughs at my pathetic attempts to catch a goldfish – his laughter that reverberates through the sleeping mountains, calling for them to wake. I watch him, his deft fingers making quick work of the paddle and in a matter of seconds he has caught me one. The elderly man's eyes are enthralled as he hands over the clear bag of water with my goldfish to the god beside me – who smiles and thanks him. His smile puts the glow of the bonfire in the distance to shame and I am sure none of the sparklers I bought will burn as bright as his eyes.
Next, we walk towards a freshwater pond to release the goldfish and as we sit side by side on our haunches, he places his cheek on his knees and turns to look at me. 'This is nice', he says, his finger reaching to brush away a hair on my cheek and my throat is dry. I look at him, at his hand and feel the blood running through his veins under his skin, carrying the strength of the earth. I look at his face, at the delicately fierce cheekbones, at the slope of his nose and my heart is on fire yet again. I cannot bear to look into his eyes for fear of combusting on the spot, but I am drawn to them – I watch him as he watches me. The hills, the shrine, the festival melt away and it's only him and me. I am sure then. I have been sure for a while but I am surer now.
The moon is there in his luminous eyes that shine in blue.
'What are you thinking?', he whispers to me and it is all I can do to keep my balance because he is so beautiful, so full of radiance and splendour and I feel so lustreless by his side. I clutch at his silky sleeve and steady my breath before taking his hand in mine and whispering – 'I am the happiest when I'm with you'. He's a bit surprised, but then his eyes moisten ever so slightly and he smiles. His long fingers grasp my chin, his thumb barely brushing my bottom lip and he tells me he would move heaven and earth to be with me for the rest of eternity. This cracks my heart open, splits my soul in two, yet I have never felt so whole in my life – my heart strains under the emotions, but the heat of this summer keeps it going, strong, stronger, burning brighter every second.
We frolic through the wooded path lit with golden orbs, sparklers crackling away in our hands. We laugh at the mundane as fireflies light the dim pathway in front of us, our hearts filled with the abundance of beauty in the dark, summer night.
The bonfire is fully lit, the flames crackling loudly, ripping and shredding the wood fed into it. Sparks fly into the navy blanket of the night sky, the heat of the fire caressing our clothes. I watch him, as he takes part in the dance around the sacred bonfire – fan in his hand, bare feet circling the spitting flames. He dances the dance of great beasts in the night sky. He shouts to the rhythm of the ancient drums; the collective voices of a hundred dancing men resonating through the souls of departed spirits one last time. A hundred dancing men – mere mortals – and all anyone can see is the resplendence of the majestic god dancing among them. Hushed whispers tell me he is visible, radiant, his very being brighter than the hottest part of the large fire. The god of the shrine has graced the earth with his presence.
I realize with a twinge in my heart that the lingering embers from the fire he had ignited in my heart in the past – a fire I had failed miserably to put out, but succeeded in containing – were being fanned and now it is a raging bonfire like the one in front of me, smouldering through my veins, my blood, my flesh and my bones. This fire that can no longer be put out – it burns and consumes me with every waking moment.
The bonfire for the spirits of the dead burns in the distance but I am sitting on the steps of Tsukuyomi's shrine with him, for a moment of peace and quiet and to rest our souls. Dark stormy clouds roll over the humid summer sky, threatening to send sheets of rain pouring over the dry earth. The temperature cools at once and in the sudden, dark atmospheric beauty blanketing the air, he sits calmly, the force of the Earth, the Sun and the Moon, the planets and galaxies contained in his very being – quietly humming an ancient tune of the gods.
'Hiyori,' my name spills from his lips when he offers his hand to take mine – and a tidal wave washes over me as cool as the surface of the windless moon. Mortal fingers linked through immortal ones – we walk up the trails to Arashiyama, through the bamboo forest – for the final ceremony of the night.
In the dimly lit forest path with lanterns strung to them, the bamboo grows tall and sways to the hushed whispers of the mountain lords, sending whiffs of incense our way. Their stalks seem to glow brighter than the night of Princess Kaguya's birth, their leaves rustling in a quiet symphony as if talking to him – in front of me, welcoming him home. He walks proudly, his head held high and I shiver as I feel power coursing through him with each step forward, a power so quiet and strong, spreading through all of the nature surrounding us. The starlight filtering through the dense bamboo canopy shimmers like diamonds and his power almost makes me collapse. But his fingers are still in mine, holding me up – he knows I don't have the mortal strength, so he smiles and gives me some of his own.
The fireworks are about to go off and we are sitting at the highest point of the hills – away from everyone else below us. Once again, the world falls away and it's just me and him. He continues to hold my hand tightly and the goosebumps on my arms are obvious enough that he knows, yet keeps quiet about it. I am thankful he doesn't tease me or joke about it, because my heart is about to burst and I am fighting to keep it under control.
Wordless thoughts and feelings are exchanged between us, settled on the grassy hills to watch the show high in the skies. The summer breeze is cool on my skin, but the heat of his presence continues to stoke the fire in my heart and I'm sweating – sweating in the presence of this radiant celestial being, his eyes turned to the heavens.
And when the lights in the sky go off, so do the fiery sparks in my chest. His eyes look at me - those luminous orbs brilliant with the beauty of the Universe in its entirety – and he smiles so peacefully, so serenely that it blinds me and soothes the raging hurricane inside. I feel light.
He may belong to the celestial beings of the Heavens, but I am the new belief that gives him reason to exist. My love bathes his blood in red, cools to blue the anger in his eyes. My faith in him gives him the power to fight. My prayers for his safety shield him from everything dangerous.
As big as he is, so am I. Because I am his, and he is mine.
The seasons may change, the clouds will part. But the fire will burn throughout the year, from the summer in my heart.