Changes in Life and the Tokyo Daibutsu

I have a habit that I always fall into whenever a trip or a move is decided. It is to search for "place name + Buddha statue." It is fun to see the variety of shapes and expressions, from small stone Buddhas rooted in the local area to tall Kannon statues.

Since I recently moved to Tokyo for the first time in several years, I strolled through several temples in my neighborhood, as is my custom. There were many statues that were about my height or that I would meet eye-to-eye with if I crouched down, and I felt a sense of familiarity with them.

Gradually, I began to want to see a large, imposing figure as well. I remembered that there was a statue called the "Tokyo Daibutsu." Since it is not exactly super famous, I guessed that it might not have been turned into a tourist spot.

I remember going to visit the "Utsunomiya Daibutsu" several years ago, and I recall being surprised by its large figure sitting all alone in a quiet residential area. Even though I had gone there myself.

Perhaps because the Great Buddhas at Todai-ji in Nara and Kotoku-in in Kamakura have so many visitors and tourists, I selfishly feel as if the entire surrounding area is a special space. And I can face them without any sense of incongruity, keeping the enthusiasm of "I am going to visit the Great Buddha."

In that respect, a Great Buddha located in a place that has not been turned into a tourist spot catches you off guard, even if it does not match up in size or fame, because it exists in a space deeply colored by daily life.

That just goes to show that I am someone who takes for granted a cityscape where a Great Buddha does not appear, and there is a certain loneliness in that, for what it is worth.

***

When I arrived at Narimasu Station in Itabashi Ward, chain stores and small buildings were packed tightly together. When I looked up at the sky, guided by the street trees, a color like blue paint thinned with water was spreading out.

Since it was a distance of about 20 minutes on foot, I had naively thought I would just walk there leisurely.

However, there were quite a few slopes, and it felt longer than I had expected. Furthermore, true to the idiom, the weather started to look ominous. Since I did not have a folding umbrella, I proceeded while praying that it would not rain.

My prayers were in vain; it started to sprinkle, and gradually it became pitter-patter-pitter-patter (increasing rainfall).

As I gave up and walked while being rained on, I came out onto a road without a sidewalk. As I proceeded, hoping that no large cars would come, a vacant lot suddenly appeared before my eyes.

In the back, the head of what looked like the main hall of a temple was peeking out. It was more deeply colored by daily life than I had expected. The closer I got, the more so it became.

At a spot where I thought I would arrive in a few more minutes, I finally discovered the words "Tokyo Daibutsu".

A handwritten sign tied to a white guardrail above a trash collection point. Amidst a scene where daily life is concentrated, the characters for 'Great Buddha' stand out in isolation.

Before I knew it, the rain had stopped, and as the blue sky began to peek through, the full view of the temple came into sight. Jodo Shu, Joren-ji Temple. I stand at the South Gate. There was a large figure in the distance.

First, I purify myself at the chozuya (water pavilion). There is a pond behind it, where two ducks were pecking at something. The sky and trees are reflected on the water's surface. Occasionally, a large koi would show its face, creating irregular ripples.

Then, I came face-to-face with the Great Buddha, the Amitabha Tathagata statue. After pressing my hands together in prayer, I look up at the figure. It felt one with the surrounding trees and leaves, radiating an atmosphere that was solemn yet gentle.

The temple has a long history, and this bronze Great Buddha was built in the Showa era when it moved to its current location. Within the temple grounds, there were not only Buddhist statues but also various stone statues, such as Tekkai Sennin, a god of medicine, Datsueba, who strips clothes off the dead at the Sanzu River, and the Seven Lucky Gods. It is a space where one can immerse themselves in the unique worldview of Japanese Buddhism.

The reason for the move in the Showa era was stated as 'due to road widening construction accompanying the building of an expressway.' I feel this is a background unique to the modern era and characteristic of an urban area. The cityscape changes moment by moment due to people's lives, and I suppose there are cases where things remain because they exist within that, and cases where they do not.

This temple has continued to remain. No matter how much the affluence of daily life has changed, it has remained while moving its location. Moreover, it has achieved development by building a Great Buddha. Thinking about it again, I find it amazing.

Earlier, I described it as 'surprising' to find it in the midst of daily life. However, when I think about it, I realize that daily life and Buddhist statues have 'coexisted,' even in urban areas where the speed of change is fast. I keenly felt that the reason I was 'surprised' was simply because I am not familiar with that land. I think it must be a natural presence for those who live there.

Temples and Buddhist statues can be seen everywhere in Japan. Just like rivers, mountains, and trees. The level of interest may vary from person to person. However, looking at the sky after the rain clouds had cleared, I hoped that they would continue to exist as part of the local character and daily life, even as people's lives shift.