Osorezan

When I tell people, “I went to Osorezan,” they often respond with surprise: “What? Wasn't it scary?” But what I experienced was the complete opposite. That day, it was morning under a clear sky. A refreshing, indescribable blue stretched endlessly overhead, with hardly a cloud in sight. Perhaps because it was still early, there were only a few tourists around, and a deep stillness wrapped the temple grounds.

It was just after the “Osorezan Autumn Pilgrimage,” and the temple grounds were gently wrapped in the stillness that follows a festival. There were no itako mediums or worshippers in sight—only the lingering hush of reverence. As I drove into the parking lot, I was greeted by the majestic mountain range of Osore and the breathtaking stillness of Lake Usori. Its beauty was so profound, it took my breath away.

Seeing that landscape, I found it strange that anyone could think of this place as frightening. To me, it appeared only as a place of serene beauty. The contrast between the clear blue sky and the lake— as I walked, gazing at the scene, I felt as though I had stepped into a painting. It was a quiet, beautiful scene, like a single painting born from a perfect alignment of coincidences.

Because I had arrived by car, I unknowingly passed over the “Taiko Bridge,” which spans the Sanzu River—the symbolic boundary between this world and the next. I didn't walk across it, but looking back, perhaps I had already crossed the threshold between the worlds without realizing it. After parking the car, I looked up—and there it was: a vast, majestic view. I stood still, overcome by the silence and grandeur, then slowly began walking toward the temple grounds.

To my right stood the main reception, and to my left, a row of six large stone statues—the “Six Great Jizo Bodhisattvas.” It felt as though, before entering the sacred grounds, my worldly desires were being seen through and tested by these silent guardians. Stunned by their overwhelming presence, I gathered myself and stepped into the temple grounds.

Passing through the mountain gate, I quietly entered the sacred space. At the end of the straight path stood the Jizo Hall, the spiritual heart of Mount Osore. To the left of the path, the main hall of the Soto Zen temple—Bodaido, enshrining Shakyamuni Buddha—stood in quiet dignity. Further to the left, a row of humble hot spring huts lined the grounds, and to the right, steam rose from another building.

After paying my respects at the Jizo Hall, I turned to see the entrance to the “Mugen Jigoku”—the path of the Hell Tour. Ah, this is it. The moment I realized that, I stepped forward with a prayer in my heart. There was something here—undeniably present. Countless sulfur-stained rocks lay piled upon one another, and the pinwheels stood almost motionless, quietly lingering in the still air.

On the day I visited, there was hardly any wind. A hush, as if the land itself were holding its breath, enveloped everything around me. I found myself wondering— What would this place feel like if the wind had been blowing? If the breeze had swept through, setting the pinwheels spinning, filling the air with their clattering song— then surely, an entirely different landscape would have unfolded before me.

As I continued, I arrived at the Sai no Kawara. Near the sign stood a small shrine, and beside it, a statue of a Jizo cradling an infant. Surrounding the area were countless pinwheels placed in memory of mizuko—children lost before birth. At that place where the pinwheels stood in rows, there was hardly any wind when I visited. The pinwheels remained still, quietly keeping watch.

Eventually, I reached Gokurakuhama—Paradise Beach. Between the Bell of Repose and Hope for the victims of the 2011 Tōhoku Earthquake, a serene Bodhisattva statue sat in stillness. The white sands and emerald green waters of the lake stretched out before me— a world so different from the hellish landscapes I had just walked through.

On the way back, I noticed a solitary, unmarked Buddha statue—a muenbotoke, a soul without family or ties. Further along, I reached the Gochi Nyorai—the Five Wisdom Buddhas—at the Gochizan Observation Deck. From there, a panoramic view of Lake Usori unfolded before me, its shimmering light embracing everything in silence. After completing the Hell Tour, the world seemed just a little more gentle.

恐山

「恐山に行ってきた」と話すと、「え？ 怖くないの？」と驚かれることがある。 けれど、自分が体験したのは、その真逆だった。 あの日は晴天の朝で、空を見上げると清々しい青が頭上を埋め尽くし、雲はほとんど見当たらなかった。 観光客の姿もまばらで、静けさが境内を包んでいた。

「恐山秋詣り」の後だったこともあり、イタコさんたちの姿もなく、祭りの後の静けさが境内に残っていた。 駐車場の前には、恐山の雄大な連山と、静かで息をのむような宇曽利湖が広がっていた。 その景色を目にしたとき、「ここを恐ろしい場所だと思う人がいるなんて」と不思議に感じた。 自分には、ただただ美しい場所にしか見えなかった。

晴天の青空と湖のコントラスト。 その景色を眺めながら歩いていると、まるで絵画の中に入り込んだような感覚に包まれた。 すべての偶然が重なって出会えた、一枚の絵のような光景だった。

車で訪れたため、三途の川にかかる「太鼓橋」を知らぬうちに通り過ぎていた。 あとから思えば、自分は知らぬ間に“あの世とこの世の境”を越えていたのかもしれない。 駐車場に車を停め、ふと見上げると壮大な景色が広がっていた。 その静けさと広がりにしばし立ち尽くし、ゆっくりと境内へ歩を進めた。

右手には総受付、左手には六体の大きな地蔵菩薩「六大地蔵尊」。 まるで境内に入る前に、自分の煩悩を見透かされているような感覚に陥る。 その圧倒的な存在感に呆然としながら、心を整え境内へと足を踏み入れた。

山門をくぐると、まっすぐに延びる参道の正面に「地蔵殿」。 左手には曹洞宗寺院としての本堂「菩提堂」。 さらに左手には温泉が立ち並び、右手にも湯気の立つ建物が見えた。 この地の温泉は「無間地獄」の影響を受けているらしく、湧き出る湯はとても良質だった。

地蔵殿で参拝を終え、ふと左手を見ると「無間地獄」への入口が現れた。 あ、ここだ。そう思った瞬間、祈るような気持ちでその入口へと足を向けた。 無数の硫黄に染まった岩が積み重なり、風車たちはほとんど動くことなく静かに佇んでいた。

その日は風がほとんどなく、まるで息をひそめたような静寂があたりを包んでいた。 もし風が吹いていたら、風車が一斉に回り出し、カラカラと音を奏でていたのだろう。 そう思うと、まったく違う光景が広がっていたに違いない。

賽の河原にたどり着くと、小さな参拝所と赤子を抱いた地蔵像があった。 周囲には水子供養のための風車が無数に並び、静かに佇んでいた。 風がないその場所で、風車はただ静かに“そこにいる”という存在感を放っていた。

さらに進むと極楽浜へ。 白砂とエメラルドグリーンの湖面が広がり、まさに“極楽”の名にふさわしい景色だった。 鐘の間に佇む菩薩像を前に、祈りと鎮魂と希望が胸に広がった。

帰路につく途中、ひっそりと佇む無縁佛が目に入った。 さらに進むと五智如来が並ぶ五智山展望台へ。 宇曽利湖を一望できる絶景が広がり、静けさの中に湖の光が揺れていた。 地獄巡りを終えたあとは、世界がほんの少し優しく見えた。

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