On returning home in the early hours of the morning, most people have only two things on their mind; food and sleep. I, being of a more 'unique' disposition, could only think how close it was to dawn, and how seeing as I was already awake it would be a waste of my existence if I didn't get dressed once more and head out at 5am to watch the sunrise at the top of the insanely steep hill.
With that in mind I piled on all the layers I could find, packed a camera and my room key and headed out. A moment of panic ensued when I saw the amount of daylight already around and I nearly foolishly turned back. With a silent cry of 'what the hell' I continued my dawn expedition. I crossed the road and entered what can only be described as 'The Graveyard' that resides behind our apartments. Walking alone through row upon row of poorly-lit headstones and statues, while all around me the bamboo plants knock together and whisper, was probably one of the most surreal and chilling experiences of my life - and if I'm honest not one that I'm in a hurry to repeat - but the ultimate goal was worth it and so on I spurred.
I had left later than was ideal and tried to make up the time by jogging which was not a good move for a number of reasons: firstly, I do not jog - I tried it once and nearly had a hernia; secondly, great heavy walking boots that lace up to the shin are not conducive to running; finally, I had not taken in to consideration the VERY steep gradient of the hill I was attempting to run up. All of this combined to nearly be the death of me, and I promptly started walking instead. No point running to the top for the sunrise, if you're not alive to see it. I reached the summit in time for the prize I had sought: although the surrounding landscape was now completely visible the sun itself had not crested the peak of the distant mountain.
I never knew the sky could be so many colours at any one time. Dark blue behind and around me where the essence of the night still existed, fading slowly to paler shades as it reached the Eastern horizon. At that point the blue merged with a light yellow, which transformed gradually to gold, orange and, finally, a deep red at the tip of the mountain. As the sun made it's unseen ascent behind that curtain of rock, the silhouettes of the distant landscapes came in to increasingly sharper focus. I only wish I was able to paint or draw with any degree of skill.
At this point I realised I wasn't alone. Apparently insomnia is rife in Japan. To the left of me, engaged in exactly the same activity, were three Japanese men of around similar age. A mutual smile and a quick greeting of 'Ohayo' (Good morning) and we each went back to our private reveries.
The moment had come. A shared breath of anticipation, and a communal scrabbling for cameras or phones in order to capture this picturesque point in time. A blinding point of red light peered over the peak of the distant mountain and within minutes the full burning disk was visible. Although it was blinding, it was almost impossible to look away. A truly mesmerising moment. With one final sigh of contentment I took a last glance at my newly-lit surroundings, gave a courteous nod to my unknown companions and headed for home.
I was all for returning to bed when I passed the shinto temple. Something made me turn away from the winding hill, and instead make the ascent up the steep steps to the arched faรงade of the Buddhist building. There was an ethereal quality to the experience of walking through those grounds at such a quiet time of the morning. The word 'tranquil' just doesn't quite cover it. As the rising sun touched each stone grave, the dawn chorus of birds provided the soundtrack to my solitary journey.
I returned home around an hour after leaving, but in such a short space of time I felt a profound difference within me. I felt closer to something. I have never been a religious person but after this morning I can almost see why some people are. Humbled is what I am, truly humbled by the beauty of the world around me.
With that in mind I piled on all the layers I could find, packed a camera and my room key and headed out. A moment of panic ensued when I saw the amount of daylight already around and I nearly foolishly turned back. With a silent cry of 'what the hell' I continued my dawn expedition. I crossed the road and entered what can only be described as 'The Graveyard' that resides behind our apartments. Walking alone through row upon row of poorly-lit headstones and statues, while all around me the bamboo plants knock together and whisper, was probably one of the most surreal and chilling experiences of my life - and if I'm honest not one that I'm in a hurry to repeat - but the ultimate goal was worth it and so on I spurred.
I had left later than was ideal and tried to make up the time by jogging which was not a good move for a number of reasons: firstly, I do not jog - I tried it once and nearly had a hernia; secondly, great heavy walking boots that lace up to the shin are not conducive to running; finally, I had not taken in to consideration the VERY steep gradient of the hill I was attempting to run up. All of this combined to nearly be the death of me, and I promptly started walking instead. No point running to the top for the sunrise, if you're not alive to see it. I reached the summit in time for the prize I had sought: although the surrounding landscape was now completely visible the sun itself had not crested the peak of the distant mountain.
I never knew the sky could be so many colours at any one time. Dark blue behind and around me where the essence of the night still existed, fading slowly to paler shades as it reached the Eastern horizon. At that point the blue merged with a light yellow, which transformed gradually to gold, orange and, finally, a deep red at the tip of the mountain. As the sun made it's unseen ascent behind that curtain of rock, the silhouettes of the distant landscapes came in to increasingly sharper focus. I only wish I was able to paint or draw with any degree of skill.
At this point I realised I wasn't alone. Apparently insomnia is rife in Japan. To the left of me, engaged in exactly the same activity, were three Japanese men of around similar age. A mutual smile and a quick greeting of 'Ohayo' (Good morning) and we each went back to our private reveries.
The moment had come. A shared breath of anticipation, and a communal scrabbling for cameras or phones in order to capture this picturesque point in time. A blinding point of red light peered over the peak of the distant mountain and within minutes the full burning disk was visible. Although it was blinding, it was almost impossible to look away. A truly mesmerising moment. With one final sigh of contentment I took a last glance at my newly-lit surroundings, gave a courteous nod to my unknown companions and headed for home.
I was all for returning to bed when I passed the shinto temple. Something made me turn away from the winding hill, and instead make the ascent up the steep steps to the arched faรงade of the Buddhist building. There was an ethereal quality to the experience of walking through those grounds at such a quiet time of the morning. The word 'tranquil' just doesn't quite cover it. As the rising sun touched each stone grave, the dawn chorus of birds provided the soundtrack to my solitary journey.
I returned home around an hour after leaving, but in such a short space of time I felt a profound difference within me. I felt closer to something. I have never been a religious person but after this morning I can almost see why some people are. Humbled is what I am, truly humbled by the beauty of the world around me.
Sayonara.
Simon Birkmyre
Nisshin, Japan
Author's note: The picture used is my own, taken by my own hand on the morning in question.
You should write a romantic poem on the sublime!
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