From Japan’s Kumano mountains to Luxembourg’s Mullerthal forests
by Robert Weis
“I got lost even though I know where I am” – these words, from Rebecca Solnit’s intriguing memoir, A Field Guide to Getting Lost, echoed in my head as I continued my solitary walk through the deep forests of the Kumano Mountains. The Kohechi Trail I followed is not uncharted territory; countless hikers and pilgrims have walked these steep slopes over the centuries. But still, I had left behind an entire emotional backpack, and my inner compass had lost its north. In this mental void I certainly felt lost, but it also meant being present, focusing on every step, every tree, every vista on endless ridges of dark green hills and mountains.
The landscape I entered with every step, its deep geography, its intimate essence – the rocks, the mossy ground, the little waterfalls of the mountain streams, all these details seemed to be part of a picture I had seen before. I got lost in these thought trails and knew where I was: suddenly I was walking in my homeland, in shady beech forests, dotted with mossy rocks and small waterfalls. Forest spirits could hide anywhere, under the roots of trees, in dark caves with evocative names like “Hell”, “Robber’s Den”, “The Owl’s Castle”. Legends of the devil, of women dressed in white appearing in moonlight, of goblins digging for fool’s gold, of robber knights waiting for the unwary wanderer, of a weeping cave – these all became a substitute for kami, Shinto forest spirits, cunning fox goddesses, drunken raccoon dogs, and spirits of the unborn that I had encountered in my wanderings through Japanese forests.
The landscape, its genius loci, breathed the same air, the rocks had the same aesthetic quality, the damp, mossy forests the same smell and feel, the little waterfalls the same singing sounds of Nature’s unwritten sutra. Everything flows, and instead of the immense mountains of Kumano, I was now walking on the narrow paths of the forests of the Mullerthal, in Luxembourg, and I had never felt so close to what I loved in the mountains of Japan. The words of a famous fellow traveler came to mind: “Lose the whole world, lose yourself in it, and find your soul.” And I knew where it would always be, in this place that is home, surrounded by rocks, moss and the whisper of water.
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For other outings by Robert Weis, see Mind Games in Arashiyama, or 71 Lessons on Eternity. For more, see his account of a walk from Ohara to Kurama here, or his spiritual journey to Kyoto here. His account of Nicolas Bouvier in Kyoto in the mid-1950s can be read here.
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