Kamikakushi

Greetings; another regular night walk. You do seem stubborn; you do behave with obstinacy regarding certain lingering images in your mind – a sound whispering, a glimpse of light flickering. You start to pursue the seen, then the unseen; you begin to step into the lands on which no one has ever explored. And then you speak, in a voice long not been heard or respected, a voice that penetrates the border of your emotion. It reaches the deepest of your heart, while you simply walk. And then it all becomes a habit, a tradition, a ceremony, a ritual, something you will follow incessantly, regardless of how much the repetition, the boredom, the lack of a thorough apprehension that once culminated upon the first encounter but fractured not much after. Have you not found it tiresome? Indeed, first we embrace the novelty, the sudden moment that raises a burst of imagination, and then we follow repetitions, all but a meaningless act of a misdirected wretch. I do pay my doubt in your intent, to be very sincere.

Don’t misunderstand me; I mean none of your saying, for we will soon take a distinct pathway that differs us from every projection of our past. A road covered with maples, a road dyed golden; much uncommon for this city, for the first time the year has the autumn unveiled a fragment of its look. Be appreciated and embrace the opening of this gallery of nature: a painting to be observed, of a stream, dark oaks, dark branches, grayish rocks – all covered in a shower of golden. Well have I remembered the earlier years of stamping in and out of those fallen leaves, in some woods and forests by the glimpse of this city; it’s been quite long. Pray for them to retain such a picture for longer, lest a sudden assault of snowfall devastates and buries its existence. Hence, friend, we will follow.

Ah, you were partially correct; we have been here some time before, only in the other direction. If the mere difference is what you would expect, then… Say a man walks in a labyrinth, starting his search by marking all the walls on his right. Thus he goes through a passageway, noting its border on the right-hand side, before coming back, encountering the other. The two walls serve two purposes in two stages; how should he consider them to be the same? So follows a road of two directions. Our journey is a maze; you would never expect anything forward. But beyond expectations lies stories and myths. Not from our own vision, the knowledgeable ones have recorded the shape and images into those tales widespread; it’s been said that the innocent ones would be gifted to see the bald rock etched with the face of the *kami* amidst tens of layers of fallen leaves, and that witness shall give in his spirit to the *kami* of myths, undergoing an experience that will no longer be recalled thereafter – a mere flashback, perhaps in dreams. That is to say, your spirit is temporarily taken away by the god of the nature, hence injected with an erased piece of memory over great inspiration. Ironically, amongst the most valuable pieces of one’s memory throughout his life is but a dream wiped out of his consciousness. We dream so much. We dream our fear, our hidden emotions, our longed lives – none of which belongs to any part of the reality. Men are born to be miserable; men are living to suffer. Yet for at least a moment should even the most desecrated soul relish in its own meaning to survive – all for but an easily forgettable experience of mere happiness. That is my purpose.

The sun is descending: thus comes the nightfall. It’s been a while… We both have witnessed a maturation, a transition from unknowing to knowing. That you were once so ignorant, so reckless; for countless times have you cried in the words of pure thoughts. Yet there was no scaffolding; there lacked an incentive. It was but a mask, an illusion, a hallucination, that surrounded, blinded your motives. And now you stand along with me, and now you speak in the words of wisdom, in the phrases of lessons. Shadows never dissipate: look back and over so you will once again see the shaded self that has lingered forever. They are the demons of hunger; stay in the light of mind constructions lest you fall into the darkness and becomes devoured.

Ah, the sun goes down; shadow has grown over this land. How I once admired it for its great fascination! I lived here for years; I experienced, then dreamed. I dreamed of white clouds and blue skies, of morning rain in the waking of the spring, of thunderstorm high atop the peak of the summer. Yet now all I am able to see are but shadows everywhere – shadows that blind me, strangle me… Now that the sun has fallen, with its last brilliance casted onto the sides of those buildings; they were dyed golden, then orange, then fiery red. I see a field by the side, and the field extends faraway. Childish, innocent; strangely could I still remember running upon that place. What was I imagining? My consciousness did not begin its existence until seven years ago. Things before that might have happened… They were forgotten, locked in deep subconsciousness, occasionally appearing as dreams or nightmares. We never lose our memory; experiences are permanently stored within some place in our mind… They were just temporarily forgotten… Eventually, one day, even for just a moment, we will see them again.

It’s a reversal. Once we crossed the alley, and we stepped on a road; for this time we walked by the road, before entering the alley. I took on this path three months ago, as if a flush of memories break into my mind… It was the beginning of the night walk, the start of miracles. It was by then did I discover an entirely different perspective regarding this town, this city. I relished in its flourishing of the day, yet rarely after twilight. It took not much long for me to realize the opposite: it’s a city covered in lights, traffics, and hordes of people. And I recognized it long ago, only for me to forget over so many years. Gradually I shaped my soul, forcing it to become something only to survive. Once I forfeited my will, my freedom, my thoughts; they didn’t come back until each time of seeing them again with my own eyes. And I promise I will never lose them again… To the years of innocence.

The shortcut lies between the alley and your way back. Three months ago you refused to enter, in a fear over the danger. But now you ought to step in, for that the experiences over the course have made you tolerant. The path will lead your way, but beware – follow the direction to your home, follow the calling of your name, lest you become lost and astray.

I have kept memories over this path; it is the residence of the *kami*, an invisible spirit that appears beyond the existence of the nature. Once as a child I would come across this path every time for no reasons. It was, after all, the mind of a kid, yet I kept no details on where I went or what I did. All I could recall was a blurred image of a younger me heading into the gate alongside the wall of this path… Night walk has been a tracing over the bygone. One forgets, but deep within he remembers: he remembers everything, from the beginning of his life to the very end of the cycle. It only needs to be reminded, to be reminded of everything that appeared and passed away. I have been searching for my own past; I cannot let go of any opportunity. Hence would I once again head into the gate, in search of those connections.

Ah, I once lived here, for some while. I led a living; I had lessons; I learned knowledge. It was a sanctuary that instructed me to become much of a being who would stand upon his own knowing. I started from my home, attending here daily, following a familiar road, then a path long forgotten. I remember there were mountains, buildings, and a midsummer night’s festive… They were long gone. But as now I enter, I must locate all of them from the beginning. I shall head to the southeast; it’s the direction of the home.

Look over the pointed way, friend. All you can see is but another endless road flickering with old streetlamps. And if you dare to come nearer in seek of exploring the unknown, a sense of cold wind shall expel you from this forbidden place. You were not supposed to be here; you were never belonged to this part. Friend, is your sight blinded by the sudden assault of frigid wind, or is your heart being devoured by the deities that do not belong to this world? The buildings, the gardens, they were all but instructions to prevent you from being lost of directions. Yet without the innermost determination of your heart, you will never be eyeing the right way. Have you not remembered my warnings? Do never have your name forgotten; it’s the shape of your heart, something you have misplaced and turned over. Even after so many years, even if you have become a distinctively different person, something of yours would never change. Those include your childhood, your initial appealing, and your name. Your name was given at the beginning of your life, something that took place even earlier than your today’s ability to think, so that it was your name that witnessed every piece of memory, and every piece of dream. Your name is the shape of your heart, the last purity of your soul. But you had it misplaced, warped, distorted. Where was your direction; what has been your name? What lies in the map of your heart? You had it flipped over. Turn back and embrace it; so will you find your way.

Everything begins by entering the gate of the *kami*. Follow the broad road until encountering a tunnel that connects to the inner part of the buildings. Step in for once and for twice, soon will I find my former residence. The tunnel is the emergence of my consciousness; it no longer follows the wide way that leads to nowhere, but to create a world of all my creation. It’s been dark, so one would notice dim lights that brightens the tunnel’s wall; that’s because there’s a midsummer night’s festive inside. That’s because there were sparkles, fireworks, torches, and a group of people envisioning their lives. And you would hear that my old friends awaits me, just as a perfect life awaits me. A life of enjoying the sunset, the party, the picnic, the chatting, the songs, the lights, the everything. I once had them all, at some point, when I dwelled inside of this sanctuary. They were the memories that belonged to my childhood, to the shape of my heart. And those memories were never erased from my mind; they were simply hidden by the *kami*. Alas, I became so imprisoned thereafter… So many years, and it’s been now.

Hence would I step out from the forbidden land dwelled by the *kami*. I learned what happened to me then: it was the tale of *kamikakushi*, during which one’s soul is taken away by the deity. And now the leaves glow golden, upon the familiar road that leads to my home. Barely would I remember what took place in the shortcut: following the road did I traverse across the tunnel. A festive awaits me; I met with a child, a child who was given such a beautiful name. And the name was mine. The name was the shape of my heart that recalled all the pieces of bygone. Men are born to be miserable; men are living to suffer. Yet for the briefest moment should even the most tortured soul rejoice in its own existence – it is the meaning to survive, and it is the most valuable piece of memories that should never be forgotten, because even if they were, they can never be erased, but rather hidden, waiting to be found some time again.