Why Do Sapiens Generate 'Stories'? | Earth Folklore OS Manifesto

Chapter 1: The Ancient Deity Without a Fixed Name

I am currently in Suwa.
In Suwa, there is an ancient deity without a fixed name.

It is said to be a tree.
It is said to be a stone.
It is said to be a mountain.
It is said to be a snake.
Its form remains unfixed even now.

Why do people pray to a single tree?
Why do people pray to the mountain behind a shrine?
Why do people give names to things that have no form?

Carrying that question, I have walked the land.
Tokyo.
Taiwan.
London.
Chicago.
And, Suwa.

Every time I walked, I encountered beautiful scenery.
I crossed rivers, climbed slopes, stood in shrine precincts, and touched old stones.

However, what I brought back was neither inspiration nor knowledge.
It was always a single question.

Why was that 'story' born in that land?

It was not that I wanted to know myths.
It was not that I wanted to know history.
It was not that I wanted to tour tourist spots.
What I wanted to know was,

the moment when a 'story' emerges.

Why do people pray to mountains?
Why do people worship stones?
Why do people leave a single tree standing?

And why do they pass these stories down for hundreds, or thousands of years?

As I walked, I began to realize little by little.
What I was trying to see was not the shrine.
It was not the festival either.
It was not the myth itself.
What I was trying to see was,

the moment when a 'story' emerges from the 'between' of humans and the Earth.
From that moment on, the world began to look a little different.

The mountain was no longer just a mountain.
The river was no longer just a river.
A single tree was no longer just a tree.

There was a relationship that humans and the land had woven together over a long period of time.
I began to search for a way to walk the world while holding onto my question.

Chapter 2: Academic Disciplines Divide the World.

I do not mean to deny academic disciplines.

It was the opposite.

Geology reads the earth.
Hydrology reads the flow of water.
Ecology reads the connections of life.
Folklore studies read the activities of people.
History reads the accumulation of time.
Architecture reads how people established their places.
Urban theory reads how people and systems wove space together.

Every discipline showed me the world in a surprisingly vivid way.

However, the longer I continued my journey, the more troubled I became.

Geology was connected to water.
Water was connected to forests.
Forests were connected to human life.
Human life was connected to faith.
Faith was connected to festivals.
Festivals were connected to the body.
The body was connected to memory.
The world was one from the very beginning.

The world did not exist the way academic disciplines do; we are the ones who divide it.

Reading myths simply as myths was not enough.
Reading folklore simply as folklore was not enough.
Reading geology simply as geology was not enough.
This is because a 'story' is not born from any one of these alone.

'Stories' emerge at the place where geology, water, ecology, life, faith, the body, and memory overlap.

At that moment, a single thought occurred to me.

Academic disciplines divide the world. But 'stories' emerge where the world overlaps.

Academic disciplines divide the world in order to understand it.
That is a necessary endeavor.
However, 'stories' cannot be seen from within a divided world.

What I needed was not a new academic discipline.
Nor was it an ideology that rejects existing disciplines.
It was a method to reconnect each discipline back into a single world.

Walking the land, listening intently to the sense of unease, and layering 'the lens of academic discipline' over it,

a method to decipher the question, 'Why did that story emerge from that land?'

It was an attempt not to read myths as myths, but to read the process by which 'stories' are generated from the relationship between the land and humanity.

I began to search for that method.

Chapter 3: The land is not just the background for a 'story'.

In Suwa, I did not look at the shrines first.
I opened a geological map.

In that instant, the scenery before my eyes changed.

The place I thought was a land of myth transformed into a land of massive fault lines.
Suwa is not a quiet land.

The earth splits, pushes against itself, and continues to move even now.

Water gushes from those fissures.
Hot springs are born.
Lakes are born.

I was looking at the outline of Lake Suwa on a map.

But as I stared at it for a while, it ceased to be just a lake.

A place where water pooled in the fissures of the earth.
A place surrounded by mountains, where people gather, mist descends, and wind passes through.
When you stand there, the lake is no longer just scenery.
The presence of the land touches your body.

Up to this point, these are activities that occur even without humans.

The earth moves.
Water gushes.
Forests grow.
Deer walk.
The wind blows.

However, humans did not view these merely as natural phenomena.

The earth shakes.
Water gushes.
Rivers collide, change their course, and leave scars on the terrain.

The tremors felt beneath one's feet and the inexplicable spring water must not have been mere 'phenomena' to people.

Something invisible is moving deep within this land.

The moment they felt that, people were afraid.

And,it was precisely because they were afraid that they tried to form a relationship.

They name it.
They pray.
They pass it down through stories.

Perhaps 'stories' were born to form relationships with phenomena that cannot be explained.

The phenomenon comes first, and faith is born afterward.

I felt that I must not get this order wrong.

It was not that humans first fantasized and then pasted those fantasies onto the land.

First, there was the movement of the earth.
There were places where water gushed.
There were mountains, lakes, and forests.
People began to live there.
And then, people encountered a presence that could not be explained.

In Suwa, there is an ancient god called Mishaguji.
However, its form is not fixed.

It is said to be a tree.
It is said to be a stone.
It is said to be a mountain.
It is said to be a snake.
It is said to be a spirit of the land.
Where is it?

I was searching for that answer.

Is it inside the shrine?
Is it inside the tree?
Is it inside the stone?
Is it inside the mountain?
But as I walked, the shape of the question changed.

Where is Mishaguji?

Is asking that question itself perhaps a little off?
It is not that its form is unfixed.

The land itself was the form.

The fissures of the earth.
Gushing water.
Damp forests.
Mountain slopes.
Paths of the wind.
The bark of trees.
The coldness of stone.

In the places where they overlapped, humans sensed something.

And they gave a name to what they sensed.

The 'story' called Mishaguji.

It was not that humans arbitrarily created 'stories' and pasted them onto the land.
In the relationship with the land, humans needed 'stories'.

As long as it remains a nameless presence, one cannot form a relationship.

That is why humans name things.

They pray.
They tell.
They pass it on.

Here, I arrived at a realization.

The land is not the background for 'stories'.
The land is the generative condition for 'stories' to be born.

The shape of the mountains.
The flow of the water.
The presence of beasts.
Memories passed down through generations.

When these overlap, humans give names to the world, and 'stories' arise.

'Stories' were not born solely to explain the world.
Perhaps they were born so that the world and Sapiens could form a 'relationship'.

And that'story' gives humans a role.

Once every seven years, the Onbashira Festival is held in Suwa.
Giant trees are pulled from the mountains, transported to the village, and erected at the four corners of the shrine.
People grasp the ropes.
They raise their voices in unison.
They guide the trees.
They pray.
They pass the story on.

At that moment, humans cannot remain mere spectators.

They become not those who watch, but those who carry.
They become those who grasp the ropes.
They become those who guide the trees.
They become those who pray.
They become those who pass the story on.

'Stories' give humans a 'role'.
Roles create a community.
The community, in turn, nurtures the next story.

Here, I realized something.

'Stories' are not things that exist inside the head.

Nor are they things trapped inside books.

"Stories" emerge repeatedly as people walk the land, move their bodies, raise their voices, and pass on memories.

Therefore, to read a "story," it is not enough to read only the content of the "story" itself.

Look at the land that gave birth to that "story."

Look at the water.
Look at the forest.
Look at the bodies of the people who entered it.
Look at the festivals.
Look at the community.

And look at the process by which these things transform into human cognition and worldviews.

I have divided this way of reading into seven layers.
Geology.
Water.
Ecosystem.
Story.
Institution.
Body.
Cognition.

This is not a table for classifying the world.

It is a cycle of observation for reading where a "story" emerges from.

Look at the earth.
Look at the water.
Look at the forests and living creatures.

Look at how people live there, how they pray, what kind of institutions and festivals they create, and how those experiences are etched into their bodies and cognition.

Within that layering lies the point of origin for a "story."

For example, recall "Princess Mononoke."

That "story," too, cannot be grasped by looking only at the protagonist.

Look at Ashitaka.
Look at San.
Look at the Forest Spirit.
Of course, you can still read the "story" even then.

However, to read it more deeply, the first thing you should look at is the land.

An archipelago born from volcanoes.
Land containing iron.
A climate with much rain.
Deep forests.
The presence of beasts.
The people living there.

Humans cannot understand a forest just by looking at it.

Deep forests.
Dark valleys.
Damp soil.
The eyes of beasts.

When people encounter something they cannot explain, they give it a name.

God.
Mononoke.
Forest Spirit.

'Princess Mononoke' is not a world created from scratch by someone.
I believe it is a 'story' that emerged from the 'in-between' space,
where people and nature have been interacting for thousands of years in the land of Japan.

After walking through Suwa, I began to understand that a little better.

The forest in the film and
the forest in Suwa
are in completely different places.

Yet, I saw the same 'structure' there.

There is land,
people live there,
they give names to inexplicable presences,
roles are born under those names,
and the community begins to move.

'Stories' emerge from the space between the world and humanity.
It was here that I finally realized this.

What I was looking for was not the meaning of myths.

It was not knowledge of folklore.
It was not a geological explanation.
It was about how stories are generated
from the space between the land and humanity,
how they are named,
how they assign roles to people,
and how they drive communities and cultures.

It was a method for reading that process.

I gave that way of reading a name.

'Earth Folklore OS'

It is not geology, folklore, history, or ecology.

It is an OS for connecting those academic lenses
and re-reading them as a single world.

It is not for reading the content of 'stories'.
It is an OS for reading the process by which 'stories' emerge.

When viewed through this OS, myths, folktales, festivals, and films
all begin to align under the same question.

What I want to know is notthe meaning of the work.

What I want to know is,

why did that 'story' emerge in that land?

I want to walk with that question, together with Earth Folklore OS.

Chapter 4: Why do I walk?

Earth Folklore OS is not a completed theory.

It is rewritten every time we walk.

When we go to a new land, a new sense of unease is born.
When we read a new discipline, a new lens is added.
When we encounter a new "story," this OS is updated once again.

Therefore, Earth Folklore OS will never be complete.

It is precisely because it is never complete that we can keep walking.

Stories are not relics of the past.

Myths pile up on top of the Jomon period,
nations pile up on top of myths,
and cities pile up on top of nations,

and upon that, our "stories" are now piling up.

The ancient layers are still piling up even now.

We live on top of the stories of the past.

And at the same time, we are still generating the stories that will become the ancient layers of the future.

This OS does not belong only to Suwa.

The land where you live also has its own geology.

There is water.
There are trees.
There are old roads.
There are places whose names remain.
There are stones left behind for reasons unknown.
There are festivals repeated every year.

There are places that no one can explain, yet for some reason, have been cherished.

There, "stories" that have not yet been read are lying dormant.

I do not wish to explain the world.
I do not wish to categorize the world either.
There is only one thing I want to know.

Why did that "story" rise up from that land?

While continuing to pursue that question, another question quietly revealed itself.

That was the question I wrote at the beginning of this text.

Why do Sapiens generate "stories"?

Tomorrow, when you walk your usual path,

I want you to stop in front of a tree.
That tree might not be just a tree.
A "story" waiting for a name might be sleeping in that place.

Look at the river.
Look at the stones.
Look at the shrine.
Look at the street corner.

At that moment, the world looks a little different.

The land is not the background of a "story".
It is the condition for the generation of a story.

And we,
are walking through that generation,
again today.

The five strata of thought leading to this declaration

This text was not born suddenly.

It has been built up little by little while walking the land, raising questions, touching the place called Suwa, thinking about Mishaguji, and layering the lens of scholarship.

The following seven pieces are the strata of thought leading to the declaration called Earth Folklore OS.

- Earth Folklore OS Declaration #000

- Suwa—A land where ancient layers continue to accumulate | #001 Earth Folklore Log

- Suwa—Mishaguji, the ancient god born from the gaps of the earth | #002 Earth Folklore Log

- Why do Sapiens generate "stories"? | Earth Folklore OS—A new framework of perception [Definition Document]

- Fudogaku (Toposophy): “uniqueness”—where does it come from? | Earth Folklore Lens of Scholarship #001

- Chicago—A city where clouds and skyscrapers, desire and nature began to coexist | #004 Earth Folklore Log

- Princess Mononoke—"Stories" arise from the conflicts of "those who are" | Earth Folklore Quest #001

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