Through Waiting Gates: Glimpses of Familiar Japan, Day 12 - Part 1 (The Silver Pavillion and Philosopher's path)

Ask the layperson on the street who is vaguely familiar with Japan what they think of when they consider the country and more than likely they will name three things: Godzilla, Sushi, and the Golden Pavillion. Most people in other countries don’t know much of this eponymous image of Japan save the picture of it, a building made of gold standing austere above a pond. More than likely there are cherry blossoms surrounding it, giving a strange and heavenly sense to the building. Yes, the Golden Pavillion is famous, it is beautiful and synonymous with Japan. I didn’t want to see it, in fact I took great pains to make sure we avoided the place regardless.

The original structure was built by the legendary Shogun Yoshimitsu, and covered in gold leaf as a symbol of his prosperity. It was destroyed by an arson fire after 1955 to the current building so synonymously known today. It is also the bigger brother of another similar building called Ginkakuji or “Silver Pavillion.”

Built by Yoshimitsu’s grandson it is a solemn, somewhat sad reflection on its elder sibling and never gained the silver leaf that would have truly given it such a fitting name. The reason being that construction was delayed due to a war that would destroy not only Kyoto but the dynasty of Yoshimitsu.

Ginkakuji is the more uniquely fitting of the two structures, the one with the greater story. The golden pavilion is a gaudy, self-absorbed building built by a great man in the height of his power. The silver pavilion was built by another man, seeking greatness, and finding only destruction. Despite this, of the two, the Silver Pavillion is the original, it blends with nature in its unfinished state rather than stands out from it.

(Main structure, with the pond and reflection)

(Sagano Neighborhood)

Ginkakuji sits in the district of Higashiyama, the same area with wooden houses and narrow streets which we had walked through on our way from Kiyomizu. The Silver Pavillion perfectly encapsulated everything about Japanese temples and shrines that we experienced. I think my Dad put it best. "You are close to everything, and yet removed from it."

That is the spiritual core of Japan in a nutshell. When you step through torii, or along pathways or gateways into any temple or shrine, you leaves the known world behind.

Temples are a different world, usually, from the hubbub of daily society. They may have shops and stalls, crowds of people, but they are best when you are alone, unto yourself. It is there, in that sense when you are an island in the sea, that the spirits speak and the past unfolds. Japan’s spiritual heart is heard beating, even as it feeds the modern society of tall skyscrapers and the hurried paces. I can see why the Japanese treasure these places. They are the escape, the sanctuary and the solace they desperately need, a return to simpler time and space.

(Temple entrance of Ginkakuji)

Entering Ginkakuji Temple grounds, we were greeted by a group of gardeners still tending to leaves and twigs as they swept them into their piles. So fastidious these people are, these caretakers of a legacy, and they work even as you pass nearby as if you were never there. The whole of the temple grounds encompasses the pavilion itself and perhaps the most beautiful garden we visited the entire trip.

The silver pavilion is not an ornate or gaudy building, but rather very simple and unassuming. Two stories tall, its only true embellishment is a golden phoenix on the top. The rest is smooth, worn wood paneling, windows and round embellishment’s like onions on the siding.

(Gravel sea meant to invoke tranquility.)

Wherever you go in the garden, the pavilion is there, reflected in the pools, peeking from around walls or over trees. It’s a welcome sight. Following this, is the smoothed gravel rock garden, resembling a smoothly rippling sea flanked by a cone of gravel in the shape of Mount Fuji. This is an intentional design. I have no idea how they made the shapes, let alone retain them.

(The "Fuji Mound" so named because it bears a likeness to Mt. Fuji. This is supposedly for moon viewing.)

(The main structure with the Fuji Mound and gravel sea in the foreground)

(Narrow bridge to the structure)

The garden is populated by rocks, pines, and flanked in the back by a forest of bamboo. As with other gardens we visited, there was abundant water, trickling and tickling the senses. It’s a large place, but with a certain sense of sincere intimacy. At several points you can climb up and take in a view of garden, pavilion and the city beyond. We stayed a good while in tranquil surroundings before making our way along the Philosopher’s path.

(Ginkakuji blends into the trees, with the surrounding neighborhoods of Higashiyama and Sagano in the background)

This walkway follows the canals through residential neighborhoods and beside equally famous temples, though we only visited one or two in passing. The houses here were larger, more luxurious than anywhere else we’d visited. As with everywhere in Kyoto, the presence of water leant a sense of timelessness and abundance. We followed the canals along to the main one which feed into Kale Biwa near the Kyoto Zoo. The only temple of note was Nanzenji, which had a huge gate famous for the thief Goemon visiting it.