Moon 4 : Tsukuyomi and the Balance of Silence

無為の存在としての月読（ツクヨミ）の重要性

Light and Silence

The moon is not only light but also silence. It shines, then withdraws. It hides its face, then appears again. In Japanese mythology, this rhythm of presence and absence is given form in Tsukuyomi, the quiet sibling among the Three Precious Children. Unlike Amaterasu who blazes, or Susanoo who rages, Tsukuyomi stands apart—veiled, still, elusive. His silence is not emptiness. It is balance before conflict, harmony that holds the world together without raising a hand.

On my way back from the shrine, I saw a pair of tanuki walking together. Tanuki are said to beat their round bellies like drums, and the sound is described as ponpoko. This belly-drumming, known as “tanuki-bayashi,” is often told in stories or evoked alongside scenes of a moonlit night.

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Kami We Meet

The gods you meet at a Shinto shrine are not always the same as those in old myths. Often they are the spirits of the land itself—the mountain, the river, the waterfall. Even when a shrine enshrines Amaterasu, Susanoo, or Tsukuyomi, each deity is shaped by the place. The Amaterasu of one region is not the same as the Amaterasu of another. Our role as priests is to care for these local forms of the divine.

Still, speaking of the kami of the myths is helpful for understanding Shinto. Myths carry ancient worldviews that still echo in the hearts of modern Japanese.

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Birth through Purification

Tsukuyomi is one of the three central deities known as the “Three Precious Children.” Their story of birth unfolds in this way. The divine couple Izanagi and Izanami gave birth to the islands of Japan and to many deities. But when Izanami gave birth to the fire god, she was fatally burned and passed away to the land of the dead, Yomi. Unable to let her go, Izanagi followed her. When he saw her transformed into a being of death, he fled in horror and sealed the two worlds apart with a massive boulder called the Chibiki no Iwa. Afterwards came purification in a river.

From this cleansing, many deities were born—spirits of impurity as well as the spirits that cleanse them. The Great Deities of Purification, whom we invoke in ritual, arise here. Finally, as Izanagi washed his left eye, the sun goddess Amaterasu was born. From his right eye came the moon god Tsukuyomi. From his nose, the storm god Susanoo.

The Great Mother Izanami brought forth almost everything—lands, beings, the very fabric of the world. Only afterward does the Father bring forth the kami of purification and the three exalted children. This act is not childbirth, but misogi—the washing away of impurity. Divine offspring emerge from what is shed in bathing.

Creation, then cleansing. Womb, then washing. A balance of feminine and masculine powers.

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Domains of Light, Moon, and Sea

After the three noble children were born from Izanagi’s cleansing, he assigned to each a realm. To Amaterasu he entrusted the Plain of High Heaven, the shining realm of the sun. To Tsukuyomi he gave rule over the night, the realm of the moon. To Susanoo he gave the sea, the untamed waters below.

Their names and their domains reflect fundamental forces of existence. Amaterasu embodies sunlight and growth. Susanoo embodies the sea with its storms and tides. Tsukuyomi—written in characters as 月読, “reading the moon”—embodies the moon not only as a celestial body but also as the measure of time. To “read the moon” is to follow its waxing and waning, to create the calendar that orders ritual and agriculture.

The green rice seedlings turn yellow all at once, swaying in the autumn wind. The Japanese calendar unfolds in step with the rhythms of rice cultivation, as if stitched together with its seasons. And presiding over this calendar is Tsukuyomi.

Silence of Tsukuyomi

The chronicles mention the name Tsukuyomi, yet the tales fall silent. Unlike Amaterasu, whose radiance fills the sky, or Susanoo, whose tempests shake the earth, Tsukuyomi withdraws into obscurity. He remains, veiled, waiting in the shadow between words.

Among the three noble children, Amaterasu is clearly female and Susanoo clearly male. Tsukuyomi, however, is different. His gender is never stated. Apart from the fact of his birth and his name, little else is recorded.

Because Amaterasu is born from the left eye and Tsukuyomi from the right, many assume that if Amaterasu is female, then Tsukuyomi must be male. Yet it is Susanoo—born from the nose—who battles Amaterasu. Tsukuyomi has no confrontation, no dramatic tale at all.

For this reason, Tsukuyomi is often imagined as male, yet with an androgynous aura, even dual-gendered. In Japanese myth, femininity and masculinity are not fixed opposites. A single deity may carry both.

To some, this absence feels like a gap in the story. To others, it is the very meaning.　Tsukuyomi embodies silence—not empty silence, but silence alive with mystery. The numinous silence of Rudolf Otto, unsettling and radiant at once. It is a silence that leans toward balance, holding harmony before conflict can even begin. Amaterasu blazes forth. Susanoo storms and rages. Tsukuyomi waits in quietness.

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Tsukuyomi in My Life

For me Tsukuyomi is not only the silent god of the moon but a mirror of my life as a priest. In ritual much depends on what is not spoken. The pause between words of norito. The quiet folding of the body in bowing. The stillness that surrounds the sound of clapping. These silences are not empty. They carry presence. They allow kami and human beings to breathe together.

When I think of Tsukuyomi, I feel he dwells in those silences. His role is not dramatic like Amaterasu or Susanoo, yet without him balance would be lost. He reminds me that harmony is born not only from action but from restraint, from listening, from allowing things to remain unsaid.

Each time I stand before the altar at night, with cool air and a hushed world, I feel him near. The moonlight filtering down is his quiet gaze, teaching me again and again how to dwell in stillness.

September is the season when students return to school. Most of the miko at my shrine are university students, and their studies grow busier at this time of year. Even so, they tell me that the hours spent serving at the shrine are an irreplaceable time for calming their hearts. Most of them continue their role as miko until they graduate from university.

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My Three Pillars

As an ordinary person, I like to think of the three pillars of my life—people, journeys, and books—in terms of the Three Precious Children. Amaterasu is people, for encounters and connections illuminate my life. Susanoo is journeys, with unpredictable changes, meetings and partings, adventures and challenges. Tsukuyomi is books, appearing in silence and stillness, guiding me inward, drawing me deep into myself. His very name means “reading the moon.” To read the moon is to sense time’s quiet rhythm, just as books allow us to feel the seasons of a life and the turning of memory.

When I picture this triad, I feel more at peace with my life. How about you? What three things would you choose as the “noble ones” of your own life? I imagine the hardest choice might be Tsukuyomi. Perhaps that is why he continues to draw us in. I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.