My mother reveres Mount Iwaki.  Situated to the south-west of her village, Kase, she had always had a clear view to volcanic cone-shaped presence of the mountain when she lived in Aomori in her early years.  But she is not the only one revering the magnetic presence of the Mountain.  Most people who feel the mountain, have a sense of awe, respect and connection to Iwakisan (岩木山).
When I rented a car for a couple of days to explore Aomori with my mother, her immediate response to my question, 'where shall we go?' was 'Iwakisan.'

Of course, no doubt, Mt. Iwaki is the first place we will go to as humble pilgrims.

A dear friend appeared on our journey as our guardian angel while we stayed in my mother's ancestral home, in Kase.  Shoko san is an elegant guide, with deep pockets of knowledge transmuted to wisdom.  Her late husband was a keen mountain climber and skier.  Had he seen our preparation to climb Mount Iwaki, he would have told us right away that we'd better wear proper mountain climbing shoes.  As it turned out we only had one pair of mountain-climbing boots between us.

We set out early from home, with a sense of reverence because we were going to the Sacred Mountain. This was my first day of driving in Japan.  I drive all the time in Scotland where I live.  Fortunately in Japan, the driver side is on the right, the same as Scotland.  This makes it slightly easier to sit on the driver's seat.  But the behavior of Japanese drivers are different than those of the Scotts.  I studied what I could about how to drive in Japan, and trusting the roads, we were on our way to the Mountain.

What a journey this was!  Like any worthwhile experience, the essence of the journey is in preparation.  Our preparation to approach the Sacred Mountain came through delightful stories my mother told me of how she used to go on pilgrimage to Mt. Iwaki with her grandmother and their folks as a ten-year-old.​  'Back then' she told me 'going to Mt. Iwaki was a deed, we prepared for it months in advance.  We walked and walked to check our footwear.  We prepared food. We wore white clothes to become pilgrims.  Then only then, after so much preparation of the body and the heart, we started walking.'  This was 70 years ago in Aomori.  People used horses for long distance travel.

Her words and stories brought us to the present moment. Connecting with our ancestors, recalling how she used to climb Mt. Iwaki in the company of her grandmother and her folks, wearing while pilgrims robes felt so significant. Our drive to Mt. Iwaki now was 'taking the next step' on her path.  It felt significant, sacred, summoned.  Like the Mountains were calling us, now we must go.

We reached the gate and were given some brochures about how to be in the mountain.  I don't read Japanese easily, so I have a bad habit of skimming over papers, my ignorance of the written words quivers a little inside me, and I move on.  So I did not register that there was a deadline to leave the car park at the top station by 5.00 pm.  We started the steep zig-zag ascent, snaking up the mountain in our rented car.

We reached the car park, at last.  The clouds were below us at the top car park.  We only had one station to climb, to reach the summit ... well one station of the summit, because the mountain goes on and on.  So climb, we did.  One step at a time, one foot in front of the other.  My mother has just become 80 a few weeks before.  For an 80 year old, she is agile, in good spirit and physical shape.  But the climb was both a test and a testimony of her love for the mountain.  And climb she did.

There was a feeling in our hearts that this is her last climb.  It turned out to be true, for the following year she fell down while we were in Daisetsuzan National Park and broke both bones in her forearm.  Since then the decline in her health accelerated.  But that is another story.

​Sometimes, when the mountains call, you just got to go.  This was that moment.  She climbed Iwakisan, after 70 years.  She paid her homage.  She was home.


​

​My mother took me to her elementary school in our first days at her village, Kase, in Aomori Prefecture in Northern Japan.  I have heard about this school from her all my life, and this was the first moment I could see the school for myself.  Alas, the elementary school in my mother's village, once a thriving place of learning, playing, growing, is now an abandoned building.  Why?  This could be due to younger families in the village, having migrated to bigger cities.  The elementary school age population has reduced so much that keeping the school open was not sustainable.  The young children in Kase now have to commute to the next town, Kanagi to study.
My mother's school building radiated with so many stories to tell.  All the children who spent their precious young days in the building with their teachers, the administrators, the cooks and cleaners, each have their own piece of the story.  
The children's handprints on a wooden pillar at the entrance of the school made a remarkable impression from a past, to an unknown future.  I felt a sad lament arise from the abandoned building,  like the school ground was longing for the children's footprint again.  Children bring vitality and youthful energy to a village.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if the school building woke up to the sound of children's laughter again?
I learned that the scene of abandoned schools in small villages is not too uncommon in Japan now.  I started to day dream about a reverse migration back to villages, a kind of eco-village living of a different kind.  
While I stayed in Kase, my mother's village, I read the Mother's little booklet on Japan.  The booklet was given to me by dear friend Marti, while I was teaching a month-long course on Ecovillage Design Education in Auroville, India in 2019.  This was the right moment for me to connect with the Mother's message about Japan.  Although the booklet was written nearly a 100 years ago, its message is timeless when it spoke about the children and the soul of the country.

knowledge ... A country where such are the children and so they are treated is a country still ascending the steps of progress and of mastery.'

The Mother was born Mirra Alfassa in Paris on 21 February 1878. A pupil at the Academie Julian, she became an accomplished artist, and also excelled as a pianist and writer. Interested in occultism, she visited Tlemcen, Algeria, in 1905 and l906 to study with the adept Max Theon and his wife. Her primary interest, however, was spiritual development. In Paris she founded a group of spiritual seekers and gave talks to various groups.
In 1914 the Mother voyaged to Pondicherry to meet Sri Aurobindo, whom she at once recognised as the one who for many years had inwardly guided her spiritual development. After a stay of eleven months she was obliged to return to France due to the outbreak of the First World War. A year later she went to Japan for a period of four years.
In April 1920 the Mother rejoined Sri Aurobindo in Pondicherry. When the Sri Aurobindo Ashram was formed in November 1926, Sri Aurobindo entrusted its full material and spiritual charge to the Mother. Under her guidance, which continued for nearly fifty years, the Ashram grew into a large, many-faceted spiritual community. In 1952 she established Sri Aurobindo International Centre of Education, and in 1968 an international township, Auroville.
The Mother left her body on 17 November 1973.   (https://www.sriaurobindoashram.org/mother/)
https://www.sriaurobindoashram.org/mother/
https://motherandsriaurobindo.in/The-Mother/​

Here is a gallery of images from the booklet 'The Mother on Japan.'
​

Shigako Kidachi was born on a warm sunny day in July 1942 in Kase, Aomori.  She was the second child to Ichi and Tamigoro.  Her older brother, Tomoji was born five years before her.  When she was born, her family did not have a stable home of their own.  She remembers moving homes with her parents and grandparents.  The family finally arrived at a spacious building they could call home.  The building was already quite old when the family moved in.  A younger brother, and two sisters were born after my mother.  Altogether they made their home a lively space of three generations living and growing together.

I had been to our ancestral home in Kase once before when I was eight years old.  We were living in Northern Iran at the time.  Those were the pre-revolution days.  The Iranian economy was strong enough for my mother and me to travel to Japan and back without breaking the back of our home-economy.  
I remember dancing for my great grandma, bonding with my two aunts, and charming my grandparents, in our ancestral home, at the age of eight-yeas-old.
My life-path was such that it took me 46 years to return to my ancestral home again, just after the Covid lockdown and social restrictions.  In our ancestral home, my mother spoke in Tsugaru, her native tongue.  There is something about being at 'home' that puts you at ease.   I felt like I was getting to know her, in her natural element for the first time.  A deeper connection with my ancestral lineage was awakening in me.  Suddenly a depth of my own roots, the ancestral influence in my life was being revealed to me.  For the first time in my 54 years of life, I was feeling the connection to my Tsugaru heritage.  My heart was crying.  I cried for realising what was amiss in my life ~ for the disconnection with my ancestors in this mysterious land of Tsugaru people.  And I cried for the sudden love I felt while slowly arriving at my ancestral home.  I heard my ancestors whisper in my heart.  'Welcome' they said. 'Welcome to our home, to your home.'

As a vegetarian eater, arriving at a place where I would feel 'I want to try everything on the menu' is very rare.  Restaurant Momo in Nagano Prefecture, was that rare gem of a place for me.  The whole place vibrated with care.  Food quality was superb.  The atmosphere was relaxed and creative ~ exactly my sort of place.  Instantly I felt a kinship.  
I filled my rucksack with home-made snacks for my journey back to Scotland.  I was facing a rough journey back with the possibility of two nights of sleeping in airports.  Good quality food, made with care, makes all the difference in the quality of your journey.  I felt well resourced and nourished by the food and vibrations of this place.  My deep gratitude to the people who have created Momo and are maintaining it from day to day.

It was Fatima-san's birthday.  Her wish for this day was to spend a part of it with friends in the Sacred Mountain and do the OM Chanting Ceremony.  And so, it came to be.
I met new beaming faces, already at the little mountain cabin as we arrived.  
-'My name's Gayatri Devi Dasi' said the beautiful woman in fuchsia pink.
-'I'm Surya Dev Das' said the tall gentleman.
-'I'm Yoginam Pub Das' beamed the kind young man.
I felt intrigued.  The Indian names I recognised, but the combination of Indian name spoken in context of Japanese language was new for me.  I felt a new adventure was waiting for me.
The wood cabin room is spacious.  The floor is covered with tatami mats.  I find tatami-mats very comforting and supportive to sit on, although having a cushion always helps.  Soon enough, we were sitting in a circle.  Gayatri-san started to explain OM Chanting in great detail; its story, how its done, its benefits, etc.  I felt very grateful for the length she went into to explain what OM chanting is, how it is done, why we do it, and how it benefits the individuals and the world.  I was convinced that I wanted to participate.  She demonstrated how the OM sound rises from the belly and traverses the whole body, rather than being just a nasal pronouncement.  The OM sound, rising from her felt so much rounder and bigger than her petit body, camouflaged in beautiful colours of dark pink and navy blue.

One thing that touched me in particular about the effects of OM Chanting was the purity it radiates to about 2 km radius around the place it has been chanted.  Secretly I thought to myself, this would be so helpful for my friends and folks in Iran and the Fertile Crescent.  We are so much in need of both physical and spiritual cleansing.  Could the OM Chanting really purify you?

Soon the room filled with our voices.  We sat in two concentric circles facing each other.  The voice came from the depth of our bellies and bones.  It reverberated through the body.  The M sound made me quiver.  At first I could not hold a stable M sound ... it just slipped away from me, and I could not chase it.  But I came back to it again, and again, and again.  With each repetition of the OM chanting the sound grew deeper in me.  Until, one moment, with wonder, I felt I could hold the whole OM sound steady and transcendent.  As I reached this level of steadiness images started to dance inside me.  I felt the forest around me, full of medicine and mystery.  I felt my ancestral roots in Japan.  A deep sense of gratitude bubbled up in me for this moment, for being in the forest with these friends, chanting OM and tapping into the well of mysteries of creation.  I became aware of the other streams of my ancestry, of my deep roots in Iran and the Fertile Crescent.  A deep wish bubbled up in me to connect, and bridge, and make known the magic of OM Chanting across my many worlds.  So many worlds exist in me, but I am only one woman.  So many worlds exist in our planet, and we are truly one world.

The OM Chanting was Fatima Suomi-san's birthday gift.  What a rich gift to give away!  I had asked Fatima-san what she wanted for her birthday.  She smiled and said 'harmony and peace in the world.'  Could this be possible, the cynic in me had its own opinion.  
After the OM Chanting Ceremony we sat in a circle again to share our experiences.  I heard each person express his and her personal journey with the sound of OM.  I felt something in me had grown, like I had become larger, rounder, more contained.   Each one had a unique encounter, and we all had something shared and in common.  A sense of roundness, like an encompassing skin surrounded our individual and common experience.  
​We went for a walk in the forest afterwards.  My senses were sharp and clear.  I smelled the tantalising Sansho tree ( a sharp pepper tree).  I could feel the heart of others around me.  I moved with gratitude and love as my eyes met the eyes of others in the forest.  I joined Fatima-san in her earnest wish for harmony and love in our world.  

https://bhaktimarga.jp/
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