This place…
It feels so familiar that I don't even use google maps here anymore. I just walk around, knowing which way to turn. It's not like I've spent so much time here, only two nights in December and today. (Admittedly, there was very little sleeping involved those nights, but still.)
How welcoming it is, after sunset.
It feels so expansive, as if it's heaving a sigh of relief after a long, tiring day entertaining everyone. And this evening, I came back here so we can have ourselves a nice conversation.
Last time I was here, I made a promise to myself that I'd make it back sometime to spend a night at the Nandai-mon, the main entrance to the Todai-ji temple. Specifically for the two Kongō Rikishi (or Niō) installed at the entrance, two gigantic pieces of wooden sculpture from the early 1200s, carved as if by the hand of the gods themselves. It's unbelievable how these masterpieces are simply out in the open, for anyone to walk up to any time of the day. (You can see them here.) Keen readers of this newsletter (how subtly self-referential) will know how I brushed aside the mention of the Niō in my previous Nara letter saying "save them for some other time". I had made the promise to myself by then, after spending two afternoons trying to view them surrounded by crowds. I needed their undivided attention.
So, here I am.
It's past midnight, and there's not another soul to be found. The Rikishi themselves are not lit up, which means I can't see them with the naked eye, but that doesn't matter. It is about being in their presence and feeling them, which can be accomplished very well without seeing. And my memory and imagination can combine well enough to fill the rectangular boxes of darkness on either side, which makes everything so much more intense. I have the two beautiful lanterns for company, along with a bright moon. And I also have a lot of deer rustling about these gardens, some occasionally approaching me to probably make sure I'm not a spirit.
(Digression: Writing this makes me realise I'm the kind of person who might break into a museum not to steal anything but just so he could sit in front of an art work and write. I can't say that thought hasn't crossed my mind in the past, and I do have a list of places that just keeps growing...)
Tonight, this place is home and I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be. I'm awed by the size of this structure I stand under, the largest temple entrance in all of Japan, standing tall for over eight centuries, through wars, fires and earthquakes. The scale is just staggering, and I can't believe I get to soak in all this by myself. It feels like a dream, part of a video game I'm playing, an imaginary space shaped for my own absolute pleasure but my shivering fingers tell me otherwise.
The Niō are both right here, just a few feet away from me, radiating beauty. I can feel the primordial sounds their mouths make, the weapons in their hands, the shapes of their muscular limbs in motion, the rustling folds of their robes frozen in place so many centuries ago, warding off all evil.
I am here, blazingly aware of everything that's happening around me this moment as I stand between them both,
Agyō and Ungyō,
beginning and ending,
fist and palm,
violence and peace,
ah and om,
life and death.
This night isn't ever going to end.
