The problem with snakes is that they don't seem to have figured out cars and the connection between them and roads. So here in the countryside you see the remains of many ex-snakes who were having a refreshing nap on the warm tarmac when a car came by.
Good morning," to the snake — the old people in my family did the same in our Kyoto garden. A snake near the storehouse was never just a snake; it was the house's guest, perhaps its guard, and children were told to bow, not scream. Reading a priest describe the same manners felt like the old house nodding. And the jichinsai eggs made me smile — properly received indeed.
What a wonderfully Kyoto way to grow up. I love that the children in your family were taught to bow rather than scream when they met a snake.
I think one of the reasons Kyoto continues to captivate people is not only its temples, shrines, and historic streets, but also these quiet customs and everyday gestures that seem to have seeped into the very atmosphere of the city.
Perhaps that’s exactly why you felt that the jichinsai eggs were properly received indeed. ❤️
I can imagine how startled they were that the kami themselves decided: "these eggs look yummy I'll have a bite!"
Thank you for another wonderful article. Your words flowed as smooth as a river and the image of you chatting with the snake at the shrine in the local dialect was one of much delight!
Thank you, イリアさん！ I’m so happy you enjoyed the article.
Saying that my words flowed like a river is one of the greatest compliments you could give me, because, as you know, I love water. It truly made me happy. Thank you.
I’m so glad to hear that. I think jichinsai often makes sense even to people who know very little about Shinto: before changing a piece of land and building a home, we pause, introduce ourselves to the place, express gratitude, and ask for safety. It is such a simple and deeply human thing to do.
Yes, it gets very cold in winter! I sometimes even wear a white Uniqlo down vest under my ceremonial robes. And soon the unbelievably hot summer will be upon us—the season when construction workers wear those vests with built-in fans.
I really enjoyed this. What stayed with me was how naturally the piece moved from plum picking in the rain, to a childhood memory of a snake, to the larger presence of water, rice, purification, and kami.
I especially liked that the snakes were never treated only as symbols. They were sacred, strange, funny, hungry, and fully alive. The snake eating the eggs during the jichinsai was such a memorable image because it made the ritual feel less abstract. The offering did not simply represent something. It was actually received.
That final line felt perfect to me. A proper jichinsai, not because everything went according to plan, but because something living entered the ritual and made the presence of the land impossible to ignore.
パトリックさん thank you so much for this thoughtful comment. I believe that once a piece of writing is made public, each reader is free to receive it in their own way and to create their own story through what resonates with them. And yet, you understood exactly what I intended when I wrote this piece, and expressed it beautifully.
In particular, when I read your words, “The snakes were sacred, strange, funny, hungry, and fully alive,” I realized that the same sentence would still be true if we simply replaced “the snakes” with “the kami.”
Thank you again for reading my piece with such care and insight.
Thank you Toukyo. I really appreciate this. That connection between the snakes and the kami makes so much sense. What made the piece stay with me was that the sacred did not feel distant or perfectly arranged. It arrived through something living, unpredictable, and a little funny too.
Of course! They’ve been salted for about a month now, and I was just thinking it will soon be time to dry them in the sun for three days once the rainy season is over!
You write the snake as both symbol and creature — a messenger of water, yet something with real hunger and a body — and you let the two stay inseparable. That refusal to choose is the part that stays with me. The kami eating the eggs reads less like an interruption to the ritual than the ritual quietly completing itself.
I loved how you connected your day to your childhood memories. I sometimes spotted aodaisho when I lived near Philosopher's path/tetsugaku michi in Kyoto, but not so much in the Hanshin area. I enjoyed reading this, thank you!
The problem with snakes is that they don't seem to have figured out cars and the connection between them and roads. So here in the countryside you see the remains of many ex-snakes who were having a refreshing nap on the warm tarmac when a car came by.
Yes, exactly! When I lived in Saitama, I often saw ex-crayfish and ex-frogs on the farm roads near the rice fields after heavy rain.
I like how the snake in Minoh came to collect his rent in advance.
It is a shigodeki snake. Shigodeki is a Japanese slang word, short for shigoto ga dekiru (“good at its job” or “highly competent”).
Good morning," to the snake — the old people in my family did the same in our Kyoto garden. A snake near the storehouse was never just a snake; it was the house's guest, perhaps its guard, and children were told to bow, not scream. Reading a priest describe the same manners felt like the old house nodding. And the jichinsai eggs made me smile — properly received indeed.
What a wonderfully Kyoto way to grow up. I love that the children in your family were taught to bow rather than scream when they met a snake.
I think one of the reasons Kyoto continues to captivate people is not only its temples, shrines, and historic streets, but also these quiet customs and everyday gestures that seem to have seeped into the very atmosphere of the city.
Perhaps that’s exactly why you felt that the jichinsai eggs were properly received indeed. ❤️
I can imagine how startled they were that the kami themselves decided: "these eggs look yummy I'll have a bite!"
Thank you for another wonderful article. Your words flowed as smooth as a river and the image of you chatting with the snake at the shrine in the local dialect was one of much delight!
I look forward to reading your next article!
Thank you, イリアさん！ I’m so happy you enjoyed the article.
Saying that my words flowed like a river is one of the greatest compliments you could give me, because, as you know, I love water. It truly made me happy. Thank you.
The jichinsai ceremony for our house was when I first became interested in Shinto. It seemed so sensible.
I’m so glad to hear that. I think jichinsai often makes sense even to people who know very little about Shinto: before changing a piece of land and building a home, we pause, introduce ourselves to the place, express gratitude, and ask for safety. It is such a simple and deeply human thing to do.
Your office view is quite nice. But when it's cold, it should be pretty cold over there, no?
I can just imagine the look of the construction company workers when noticing the eggs were not there. Must have been quite striking.
I guess the mountain Kami was now pleased, with a full belly.
Yes, it gets very cold in winter! I sometimes even wear a white Uniqlo down vest under my ceremonial robes. And soon the unbelievably hot summer will be upon us—the season when construction workers wear those vests with built-in fans.
I remember that Aodaisho picture from last year! I used to see snakes all the time, every summer around my home.
So far this year, I’ve yet to see any.
Thank you for remembering it! Please do let me know if you spot a snake this year!
I really enjoyed this. What stayed with me was how naturally the piece moved from plum picking in the rain, to a childhood memory of a snake, to the larger presence of water, rice, purification, and kami.
I especially liked that the snakes were never treated only as symbols. They were sacred, strange, funny, hungry, and fully alive. The snake eating the eggs during the jichinsai was such a memorable image because it made the ritual feel less abstract. The offering did not simply represent something. It was actually received.
That final line felt perfect to me. A proper jichinsai, not because everything went according to plan, but because something living entered the ritual and made the presence of the land impossible to ignore.
パトリックさん thank you so much for this thoughtful comment. I believe that once a piece of writing is made public, each reader is free to receive it in their own way and to create their own story through what resonates with them. And yet, you understood exactly what I intended when I wrote this piece, and expressed it beautifully.
In particular, when I read your words, “The snakes were sacred, strange, funny, hungry, and fully alive,” I realized that the same sentence would still be true if we simply replaced “the snakes” with “the kami.”
Thank you again for reading my piece with such care and insight.
Thank you Toukyo. I really appreciate this. That connection between the snakes and the kami makes so much sense. What made the piece stay with me was that the sacred did not feel distant or perfectly arranged. It arrived through something living, unpredictable, and a little funny too.
That made the ritual feel more real, not less.
I love the symbolism of snakes and really enjoyed reading this post this morning. Thank you.
Thank you! I’m so glad you enjoyed it as your morning read!
Are the plums you were picking the ones you will make into the umeboshi that you wrote about last year?
Of course! They’ve been salted for about a month now, and I was just thinking it will soon be time to dry them in the sun for three days once the rainy season is over!
Nice.
Thanks.
You write the snake as both symbol and creature — a messenger of water, yet something with real hunger and a body — and you let the two stay inseparable. That refusal to choose is the part that stays with me. The kami eating the eggs reads less like an interruption to the ritual than the ritual quietly completing itself.
I loved how you connected your day to your childhood memories. I sometimes spotted aodaisho when I lived near Philosopher's path/tetsugaku michi in Kyoto, but not so much in the Hanshin area. I enjoyed reading this, thank you!