Salt

Human beings are tiny creatures living in a gigantic world.

I took a trip to two places this past weekend that would prove that to me, both physically and metaphysically.

Me and some of my good friends went up to Oga Prefecture, which is famous for a place called "Godzilla Rock."

Driving up to this rock, we took an extremely scenic route alongside the sea. To one side, an endless ocean. To the other, mountains that towered over us. In front of us, a road that stretched for miles and miles. And then there was us, just three people, in a small car.  And for most of the drive, we were the only ones on the road. Tiny creatures by comparison to the sea and mountains, absolutely dwarfed by comparison.

When we got to the seaside cove where Godzilla Rock is, I noticed the huge boulders strewn about the shore. Not rocks, but more like sediment. I picked up a piece of driftwood and started to use it like a cane, climbing over the rocks and looking at the mountains and sea and shore.

Huge stone-like formations on either side, creating a miniature canyon.

Rock formations that jut from the ground like the bones of long-dead dragons.

A lone lighthouse in the distance, seemingly abandoned, if not for its singular blinking light.

The tide was creeping closer, leaving us with only a limited amount of time to get to the rock. We did not have forever, and yet still I felt the urge to take my time.

As I came to Godzilla Rock, which had naturally formed to look like some sort of dinosaur, I felt the "real world" shatter.

I felt like Gandalf, leading the fellowship over the Misty Mountains. I became an adventurer, a beholder of the natural beauty of the earth. I climbed atop the rock and thrust out my piece of driftwood like a sword. I had completed my journey, and I was satisfied.

I am a grown man. I live in the real world. The real world is a grey and plain place. It's what takes the place of the magic we're born expecting, the magic we once filled in with our hearts.

Even on that day, I was wearing all black and grey, unintentionally. A black leather jacket over a black hoodie over a black shirt, black pants, a grey hat, and grey shoes. Like smoke.

It's ironic, then, that this grown man, dressed in ashen colors, would have color bursting from his heart at that moment, his driftwood transformed into a cane or a blade, the beach into a den of calcified dragons and dormant geysers.

At that moment, I was in awe of the splendor of mother nature. How diverse it could be, how beautiful it could be. But even more than that, I was reminded that it becomes even more beautiful when admired by a human being.

What purpose would it serve, were it there by itself? Who would be there to say it was good?

I felt reason for existing, then. Reason outside of the work I can do or what I can provide the world. The "real world" of work became the illusion, and simply beholding creation made me feel intensely human, in that magical way we feel so often as children.

The other place we went was Dairyuji Temple, an old Buddhist temple that is now a spot for tourism.

If the trip to Godzilla Rock showed me how small we are on a physical scale, the trip to Dairyuji showed me how small we are on a metaphysical one.

I am Catholic, and I grew up believing in, and still believe in, that dogma and tradition. Yet when I arrived at that temple entrance, covered in snow and so quiet that even the wind was silent, I felt the urge to pray.

There is something about us humans, I think, that urges us towards inner contemplation. Why are things the way they are? Who or what should we seek guidance from? How do we make order out of this world that we have been thrust into?

The family crests on the wall.

 The offerings from the local villages and villagers.

The offering of fruit to the deceased.

This was behind a small bell, a shrine.

A small bell, which when rung three times is meant to answer your prayer.

The battering ram was used to ring the giant bell. Behind it, you can see the graveyard.

The bell tower above that, framed by a graveyard beyond the bell. I do not know the purpose of the larger bell, but it felt dignified and gallant, overlooking the beautiful garden below.

Eventually, we sat down to have some tea and cookies with the old lady who was running the temple that day. We did our best to talk with her in our less than perfect Japanese (of which mine was probably the least perfect). She taught us about how the carp in the lake burrow beneath the earth in the winter, how the cranes arrive in the spring and summer.

It was so serene, sitting there, sipping tea, admiring the garden and learning about the temple from this kindly old woman.

The garden in the center of the temple.

As I walked throughout the temple, I realized that the Buddhists had come to very different answers from my own. But they came from the same place, that desire to find purpose and meaning in life.

We are tiny creatures. Our world is almost incomprehensibly bigger than we are. Beyond that, the universe is vast, maybe infinite. For all intents and purposes, we should be eclipsed by almost everything else.

But we're not eclipsed. We aren't even just a part of things. We are the heart of things. Our desire to draw meaning from life, our search for answers, our admiration of creation, the gaps we fill in with our own answers.

Human beings make the world beautiful simply by beholding it. That, I think, is one of the major reasons that we exist.

Like the salt of the earth, as they say.