Why Do Japanese People Find Beauty in Moss?

When you visit a temple in Kyoto, your heart is captured by the beautiful gardens.

However, the main attraction is not always colorful flowers.

It is the moss that quietly covers the ground.

Or perhaps a moss ball small enough to fit in the palm of your hand.

From the perspective of someone from abroad, you might wonder, "Why moss?"

It is not as glamorous as a flower, nor does it have the presence of a great tree.

Yet, Japanese people have long found beauty in moss.

Since I started observing wild plants, I feel I have come to understand the reason a little better.

Moss does not assert itself.

It does not bloom and boast, "Look at me," nor does it compete to grow taller than anyone else.

It is simply there, quietly.

When it rains, it is nourished; when it is dry, it endures patiently, and over a long period of time, it gradually wraps the world in green.

There is a mysterious power in that form that calms the heart.

In Japan, there is a concept called "Yaoyorozu no Kami" (eight million gods).

Gods reside in mountains, rivers, trees, and stones.

Nature has not been placed below humans, but rather respected as individual lives.

Perhaps that is why Japanese people have naturally come to turn their eyes not only to prominent things but also to small lives.

Appreciating wild flowers blooming in the fields.

Noticing the beauty of fallen leaves.

Turning one's heart toward the quiet green of moss.

I believe these are all part of a worldview that says, "Even small lives have value."

That sensibility is also expressed in the culture of "kokedama" (moss balls).

A kokedama is made by wrapping the roots of a small plant in soil and covering it with moss.

It is much smaller than a potted plant and has no flashiness.

However, within that small sphere, a piece of nature is breathing.

A forest small enough to fit in the palm of your hand.

There is soil, moss, plants, water, and time within it.

Every time I look at a kokedama, I feel that "Japanese people wanted to welcome nature into their daily lives."

Nature is not something to just look at, but something to live with.

That is why they welcomed a small piece of nature into their rooms.

This may be a uniquely Japanese sensibility that also applies to bonsai.

Recently, even in the world of physics, it is known that the universe has a nature like a "wave" that is constantly changing.

When I look at nature, I realize this is true.

The wind blows and then stops,

the tide comes in and then goes out,

plants sprout, bloom, bear fruit, and eventually return to the soil.

Moss, too, lives quietly within that flow.

It does not rush, it does not fight, and it spreads little by little.

Its form is as if waves are quietly washing up on the shore and receding.

When walking in the forest, the most prominent things might be the large trees.

But it is the moss that protects the soil where those trees grow.

Moss stores rainwater, prevents drying, and becomes a home for small creatures.

A forest cannot be made of large trees alone.

Inconspicuous lives support each other to create one rich world.

Isn't it the same for people?

In the modern age, we are often told to be "faster," "bigger," and "more visible."

However, a truly rich society cannot be sustained by prominent people alone.

People who support others.

People who quietly continue their work.

People who protect their families.

People who support their communities.

With each of these individuals, the forest of society grows.

That is why, every time I look at moss, I think:

Perhaps what Japanese people have found beautiful is not the moss itself, but its way of life.

It is okay not to stand out.

It is okay not to rush.

It is okay not to compare yourself to others.

To quietly take root in your own place and live in harmony with those around you.

Japanese people have likely found beauty in that way of being since ancient times.

Since I moved, moss has increased in my garden as well.

In that small green, which I would not have noticed before, I now feel the changing of the seasons.

Wild plants, moss, and trees all live while fulfilling their own roles.

Nature does not speak loudly about anything today either.

But if you listen quietly, I feel as though it is gently teaching us that "beauty is not in standing out, but in harmony."