Ren’ in saw things through to their logical conclusion, expiring in his hut a few years later.
CREATION MYTH, JAPANESE
Once upon a time, a very long time ago, there was nothing. But then something that was lighter than nothing rose to the top of nothing and formed heaven. (This is, quite honestly, the only way I can think of interpreting the original telling of the Shinto creation myth, as related in Japan’s oldest chronicle, Kojiki.)
The heavier mass of nothing, meanwhile, formed what was to become earth. But for a long while ‘earth’ was nothing more than a vague, watery substance, from which sprouted ‘like reeds’ lots and lots of gods. But as this vague and watery place wasn’t exactly packed full of things to do, the gods soon became bored.
‘Look,’ they said to two of their number (‘Izanami’, a female deity, and ‘Izanagi’, who was male), ‘why don’t you both pop up to the Floating Bridge of Heaven, and while you’re up there see if you can’t somehow form some landmasses down here?’
‘And how in the name of Shinto are we supposed to do that?’ demanded Izanami and Izanagi (or just ‘Iza and Iza’, on the occasions when they didn’t need to be distinguished between).
‘We haven’t got the foggiest,’ replied the other gods, ‘but take this bejewelled spear with you, in case it should come in handy.’
So up went Iza and Iza to the Floating Bridge of Heaven, where they gazed down at the foggy, watery void.
‘Let’s see if we can’t stir things up a bit, by using this extremely long spear,’ suggested Izanami.
‘Okay,’ replied Izanagi, doing just that—although he was surprised when the spear touched something solid that lay underneath the vague, watery substance.
‘What the…‘’ he began in surprise, retracting the spear. As he raised it back up towards the bridge, great drops fell from its points. And lo! Instantly as they hit the foggy, watery substance they formed a solid landmass—an island.
Iza and Iza went from the Floating Bridge of Heaven to the island they’d formed, and decided that they now quite fancied indulging in a bit of hanky-panky. But in the ensuing courtship ritual, Izanami flattered Izanagi first, which for some reason was something that was strictly forbidden by the gods who dwelt in heaven.
Punishment was dealt to Iza and Iza through the birth of their first child, who was ‘boneless like a leech’ and otherwise generally unsatisfactory. Thus the unfortunate child was put on a tiny raft made out of reeds and set adrift on the foggy, watery substance that surrounded the island.
A second child (called Awashima, or ‘faint island’—presumably something of an insult) proved just as repellent as the first, and met a similar fate. In despair, Iza and Iza went up to heaven to ask the gods what they could do to make amends.
‘Re-enact your courtship ritual, only this time make sure it is the male who compliments the female first,’ said the gods sternly.
‘Understood,’ nodded Iza and Iza, muttering under their breaths, ‘Jeez, lighten up…’
But doing as they were told, they were consequently blessed with children who proved so satisfactory that they were able to become Japan’s three thousand-odd islands. In fact, so fertile were Iza and Iza that they also gave birth to gods of wind, trees, mountains, rivers, sea—although when it came to giving birth to the god of fire, it all proved too much for poor old Izanami; the effort killed her.
DAIBUTSU
In 743, Shomu, the forty-fifth Emperor of Japan, ordered an urgent meeting of his most trusted advisors.
‘Look,’ he told them, ‘things can’t go on like this. Recently we’ve had a smallpox epidemic, widespread crop failure, and—stone the crows—even an attempted coup. I’m beginning to get the feeling that someone up there doesn’t really like me, you know what I mean?’
One of Shomu’s advisors awkwardly cleared his throat.
‘If by “someone” you mean Buddha, master, then I have a plan…’ he declared cautiously.
‘Oh aye?’ yawned Shomu. ‘Let’s hear it, then.’
As he spoke, the advisor warmed more and more to his idea. ‘Why don’t we build an absolutely flippin’ humungous statue of the Buddha, say around sixteen metres tall, with its fingers alone each the size of a human being? It will use up almost the country’s entire stock of copper, but you wait and see if any more droughts or whatever occur after we’ve erected that little effort at Todaiji temple in Nara…master.’
‘You mean like a dedication, right?’ said Shomu. ‘Sounds great—get cracking, lad.’
Nine years later, the statue finally completed, an Indian priest named Bodhisena conducted the ‘eyeopening’ ceremony in front of some 10 000 people. Since then (and it has been rather a long time) such calamities as earthquakes and fires have caused the Daibutsu of Todaiji to have to be rebuilt on several occasions; but—though a little smaller than it was originally—it can still be visited to this very day.
DHARMA DOLLS
Expect to see these in many Japanese homes and businesses, as a general sort of good-luck charm. The doll is a depiction of Bodhidharma, the wandering monk who’s often accredited with having started the Chinese kung-fu style of fighting, along with establishing Zen as a means of attaining Enlightenment (See Buddhism).
Bodhidharma generally favoured walking as a means of transportation; although on occasion (legend informs us) he chose to float across a river on a single reed. However, after nine years sat facing a cave wall in a state of deep meditation, his legs and arms either atrophied or fell off altogether, depending on what version of the story you choose to believe. In any case, this is the reason why the Dharma doll has no limbs painted upon it. (I can only assume that Bodhidharma introduced kung-fu to the world before he suffered such grave injuries.)
Dharma dolls are bought without their eyes having been painted in; the owner is supposed to do this him-or herself—one eye at a time—when a particular wish or desire has been fulfilled.
Bodhidharma is said to have had a particularly piercing stare—caused, no doubt, by the fact that he once amputated his own eyelids in a fit of rage after he fell asleep while meditating. These eyelids fell to earth and from them, believe it or not, sprouted the first tea plants.
DIAZ, CAMERON
Just what does your average Hollywood superstar do when their bank-balance needs topping up? Well, they can always—in the case of Ms Diaz, or indeed Brad Pitt—appear in a Japanese television commercial for a mobile phone company. Such commercials play upon an actor’s general image: Diaz hams up her familiar ‘kooky’ role by awkwardly pushing a loaded supermarket trolley with one hand, advertised mobile firmly clamped to her ear with the other, one high-heeled shoe about to fall off as she walks pigeon-toed while chattering away. Brad Pitt, meanwhile, is strolling through an exquisite garden as he talks into his phone. He passes two attractive women, who distract his attention and with whom he exchanges flirtatious glances. Not looking where he is going, he stumbles into an ankle-high water feature.
Ho ho!
While they are undoubtedly paid ludicrous amounts of money for such commercials (the soundtrack for which, incidentally, is Aerosmith’s Walk This Way), Ms Diaz and Mr Pitt do seem willing to poke a little fun at themselves.