The Silence of Ice, and the 300-Year-Old Fire Scorching the Ancient Capital
Life in Japan – Issue 012
Thank you, as always, for reading Spiritual Japan Journal. We are now in the midst of winter’s peak cold, and I hope you have been keeping warm and well. Welcome to this week’s Life in Japan.
The calendar has reached late January. The Japanese archipelago is currently in the midst of “大寒 (Daikan - Major Cold),” the harshest period of winter. According to the weather forecast, a strong cold wave is bringing heavy snow alerts to many regions this weekend, particularly along the Sea of Japan coast and in the Hokuriku region.
This week, I would like to talk about this season of frozen “silence,” and in contrast, a dynamic “ritual of fire” that will scorch the night sky of the ancient capital tonight.
Appreciating Subtle Seasonal Shifts: The 24 Solar Terms and 72 Micro-seasons
First, let’s dig a little deeper into the Japanese sense of the seasons. I often introduce the current calendar date in my “Notes,” but I haven’t had the chance to explain the concept behind it in detail until now.
In Japan, there is a seasonal index called the “二十四節気 (Nijushi Sekki - 24 Solar Terms),” which divides the year into 24 equal parts based on the movement of the sun. It further divides the four seasons into six parts each, and we are currently in “大寒 (Daikan - Major Cold),” the final phase of winter. Furthermore, these terms are divided into periods of about five days each, called “七十二候 (Shichijuni Ko - 72 Micro-seasons).” This calendar captures minute changes in the natural world, such as “birds start singing” or “peach blossoms smile,” reflecting the delicate sensibility of the Japanese people toward nature’s small workings.
Today, January 24th, marks the final day of the micro-season called “款冬華 (Fuki no Hana Saku - Butterburs sprout).” Do you know the plant called “蕗 (Fuki - Butterbur)“? It is a wild vegetable that pushes its pale green buds, called “ふきのとう (Fukinoto - Butterbur shoot),” through the snow before any other plant.
To me, this Fukinoto is a very familiar plant. Although the calendar says it is time for them to sprout, the Japanese archipelago is long from north to south, so the arrival of the seasons varies greatly by region. In reality, in many places, they cannot be harvested for eating until February or later. Especially in Hokkaido, the northern land where I grew up, we couldn’t harvest them until around April. While there is sometimes a gap between the poetic language of the calendar and the actual climate, it is still fun to imagine that “spring might already be moving under the snow.”
The soft bitterness of the Fukinoto tempura my mother made for me in the Hokkaido spring was, for my body, the very “awakening of spring.”
However, nature is not yet ready to fully embrace warmth. Starting tomorrow, January 25th, the calendar shifts to the next micro-season: “水沢腹堅 (Sawimizu Kooritsumeru - Water in marshes freezes).” This name paints a vivid picture describing a cold so severe that even the water flowing in marshes and shallow streams freezes over into thick ice.
The surface is still locked in thick ice, but under that cold ground, preparations for spring are steadily advancing. A hope that is invisible to the eye, but certain, is spreading beneath our feet in Japan right now.
Ghosts, Arson, and Prayer: The Truth of Wakakusa Yamayaki
While nature quietly awaits spring, human society is holding a hot event to blow away the cold. Tonight (January 24th), the ancient capital of Nara hosts the “若草山焼き (Wakakusa Yamayaki - Mountain Burning Festival).”
Imagine this: Mount Wakakusa, standing 342 meters high overlooking the city of Nara. Tonight, fire will be set simultaneously to the vast grassy slopes covering approximately 33 hectares (about 80 acres, or the size of 45 soccer fields).
Why burn a beautiful mountain? There are various theories about its origin, but there is one very interesting legend.
Long ago, it was believed that ghosts appeared from the “鶯塚古墳 (Uguisuzuka Kofun),” an ancient tomb at the summit of this mountain. It is said that people feared the superstition that “if the mountain is not burned by January, misfortune will occur,” and began setting fire to the mountain indiscriminately. In the Edo period (around the 18th century), after repeated incidents where fire threatened to spread to the precincts of 東大寺 (Todai-ji Temple), the local magistrate’s office (Nara Bugyosho) put up signs prohibiting arson because it was too dangerous. However, people, fearing ghosts and disasters, did not stop secretly setting fires despite the ban.
So, the magistrate’s office and nearby temples made a decision: “If we can’t stop it, let’s burn it safely under management.” Thus, what was once a chaotic arson disturbance was sublimated into a sacred ritual.
Today, it has become a festival of fire where the Shinto and Buddhist deities of Nara’s representative sites—春日大社 (Kasuga Taisha Shrine), 興福寺 (Kofuku-ji Temple), and 東大寺 (Todai-ji Temple)—syncretize to pray for the repose of ancestors’ souls, fire prevention, and world peace.
The process is extremely solemn and dramatic. The ritual begins with receiving the sacred fire from Kasuga Taisha Shrine. Led by the sound of 法螺貝 (Horagai - conch shells) blown by mountain ascetics (Horashu from Kinpusen-ji Temple), the fire is carried to the shrine at the foot of the mountain by a solemn procession of about 40 people, including Buddhist monks and people dressed in the costumes of Edo period officials.
After prayers at the shrine, as the chanting of sutras by monks from different sects echoes around, the sacred fire is transferred to a bonfire. The climax comes just before ignition. Large fireworks called “尺玉 (Shakudama),” which are rare in Nara Prefecture, are launched into the winter night sky, coloring the cold air with beautiful light.
Immediately after, about 300 members of the Nara City Fire Corps carrying pine torches surround the mountain. When the signal of conch shells and trumpets sounds in unison, they set fire to the dry grass with their own hands. The paradoxical role of firefighters, whose job is usually to extinguish fires, lighting the fire is also a highlight of this event. The fire spreads in the blink of an eye, and the entire mountain burns dynamically as if scorching the night sky. The power of the scene is simply overwhelming.
A Strange and Beautiful Country, Japan
Burning a mountain for the sake of ghosts... From an outside perspective, Japan surely has many customs and beliefs that seem mysterious, or perhaps even a bit strange.
However, it is within these unique, sometimes “odd” cultures that the fun and beauty of Japan are hidden. In SJJ, I will continue to deliver timely reports on these local festivals and events—the kind you won’t find in standard guidebooks—along with the atmosphere of the moment.
Also, Japan is a country with four very distinct seasons. I look forward to sharing the special scenery that can only be witnessed in that specific fleeting moment in future articles.
A land full of strange customs, yet undeniably beautiful. Let’s continue to explore the deep world of Japan together.
Stay warm, and have a peaceful weekend.
—Written by Sumire
You may also enjoy these stories
Are Japanese People Unkind? The Complex Psychology Behind the Silence and Non-Confrontation
Thank you for always reading the Spiritual Japan Journal.
Coming of Age Day: A Holiday Filled with Wishes and Furisode Kimono
January 12th was the national holiday known as 成人の日 (Seijin no Hi) — Coming of Age Day, when municipalities across the nation hold simultaneous ceremonies to celebrate their new adults.