Fire Walkers: Traversing the Embered Path with th Yamabushi Monks
In the distance, the hollow call of a conch echoed through the trees announcing their descent. Today, the Yamabushi monks, a sect of Japanese mountain ascetics who practice Shugendo, a spiritual blend of Shinto and Tantric Buddhism, were convening for their annual firewalking ceremony in the mountains surrounding Gokurakuji Temple in the Kanagawa prefecture.
The procession followed the rhythm of the Monks’ staccato chant as they made their way, heads bowed and souls focused, to the ceremony’s spiritual hub. Today, the firewalking ceremony, a powerful purification ritual, provided an opportunity to display the faith, courage, and strength known as hallmarks of this collection of monastic men.
Behind them, locals and spiritual followers, quietly travelled in twos as a young neighborhood scout troop eager to witness and participate in the path of embers whizzed through the crowd. Among this gathering was a collection of foreigners invited to share in this holy ritual.
There are moments in our lives when we encounter experiences that are so far outside of our familiar that we are either terrified or enchanted. On this day, I was blessed with the latter. Although we were very much outsiders in this crowd, our presence and participation were graciously welcomed and encouraged.
Upon approaching the pyre structure, participants purchased Goma-gi and Talismans, wooden sticks stamped with various wishes ranging from household safety and good health to academic success and driving o evil spirits. These would become sacred kindling for the fire that was to come, the fire that would provoke fear in some and faith in others.
Lining the perimeter of the sacred sanctuary, we eagerly observed the preparations. At its core, a lincoln log assemblage of tree trunks blanketed in evergreen branches and hugged by a string of shide, zigzag-shaped paper streamers that demarcate holy sites in Shintoism, stood pride of place at the very center. At either side a bucket cloaked in straw carried water to be ladled onto the pyre. At the far end, a statue of O-Fudo-Myo-O, a powerful Buddhist deity and protector of the faith, was reverently placed just beyond the reach of the flames. In the corners, monks stood vigilantly as a call to prayer beckoned the attention of onlookers.
The ceremony continued with a series of weaponry gifts: an axe, a bow and a sword, presented by the monks as an oering. In a show of both humor and interactive pageantry, the archer shot his arrows to the far corners of the crowd, and the children among the onlookers squealed in delight as they chased the arrows in hopes of claiming one for themselves.
At last, the moment to light the fire commenced when two monks using towering bamboo stalks topped with fronds transferred the flame of a holy candle to the evergreen boughs. Slowly the fire took hold while other monks wafted the flames with enormous paddle fans. The smoke was formidable billowing into the air in plumes of cumulus clouds until the flames overtook the smouldering, and a bon fire erupted. At this moment, all were invited to throw their goma-gi into the flames, and watch as their wishes transcended this earthly plane toward heaven. It was both spectacular and divine.
With much diligence and faithful attendance, the monks collectively raked the debris of the fire into a glowing path to O-Fudo-Myo-O, a path flanked on each end by a pile of blessed salt, a symbol of purification. As the fire continued to scorch the ground, the monks cued by choral chanting began to assemble for their march across the embers. In order of rank, they began, the most senior first. Their robes provided a bold contrast to the flames burning at their feet. Some stomped, some sachayed and some seemed to glide from one side to the next, each getting their personalized passage to Buddha.
Next, the community got their turn. An assemblage of the elderly and the young, the believers and the curious, the locals and the foreigners barefooted, pants cued, awaited their opportunity to give firewalking a try. An anxious excitement brewed in the crowd, strategies and theories circulated about how best to tackle the beast. But as we approached a calm settled in. We were each handed a prayer envelope to hold between our folded hands as we traversed the ashen path. With heads bowed, each person made their way from one mound of salt across the fiery path to another where each paid their respects or oered prayers to O-Fudo-Myo-O.
It was a truly remarkable moment to witness as a foreigner. To not just be there but to partake in something so uniquely belonging to the Yamabushi monks and their followers. The novelty and the spectacle were undeniably exciting and special. But what was most striking to this foreigner was how absolutely fundamental this ceremony and ritual were to the true believers. This day was not only a celebration of their beliefs but a burning armation of how they choose to live every day in faith and service and sacrifice to their God. It was a personal and singular crossing that brought them to a greater collective embrace. How lucky am I, that for a moment, I got to share a bit of their fire.
