I have read that the Saxons measured a day’s time in three waves: a morning-tide, a noon-tide and an evening-tide. This is a good framework to tell the story of this day, which brought distinct waves of moments in the morning and afternoon.
The day began at 6:00, as I prayed, cooked a big breakfast, caught a set of trains and arrived in Kamakura. As I arrived and headed north, I was absorbed into the morning tide: a time of gray
skies, lone wandering and stillness. As I walked I was drawn into village shrines: small well kept buildings, with distinct gateways, surrounding gardens of well-trimmed vegetation and well-positioned stones. Entry brought a surge of awareness of bright colors and thoughts of the meaning of the place to the local people. I thought how over hundreds of years people with hope, people with devastation and people with glory have come to pray at this spot. I thought of how time absorbed their emotions into the atmosphere and the illumination that I experienced was a manifestation of this long string of Moments of Truth.
Then I headed up the mountain and followed the signs to a temple. The entrees to the inner gardens and buildings were closed, but the pathways that surrounded the gates were open. I walked in awe of the vegetation, placed so thoughtfully in and around the caves, at the gateways and surrounding paths. Next I found a cave, near a plot of maples and ajisai and entered to meditate. It was my first experience meditating in a
cave and it brought a heightened sensitivity to the sounds of nature and body-shaking vibrations while chanting.
I then walked down the mountain and followed a wave of people to the most popular Zen temples. Soon I landed at Engaku-ji, a temple built in commemoration of Japan’s unification and defeat of the Mongols and in the solace of those lost. The temple’s grounds were filled with nearly 20 buildings, coy ponds and gongs. As I walked through, a monk was teaching a meditation class to a large group of sitting students.
As I hiked up the rain came. I wore my jacket like a cape, protecting my backpack from the rain, while enjoying the cool summer shower on my head. I wandered to a blocked off garden surrounded by large buildings with traditional architecture. There was a monk chanting loudly and I listened. I stood for awhile as a large crowd of Japanese joined. The chant was answered by a chest piercing gong and responding chants from the other monks. As I left the garden gateway, I stood and watched the coy in the rain and saw the gong radiate in the water.
Eventually, as all do who stand in the rain, I got wet and found shelter for lunch. I arose from lunch with the sedating noontide that came with an unrelenting rain that made me wetter and wetter, as I hiked south. (Although wet and
uncomfortable, the air was warm and I knew the chances of sickness were slim.) Nearly everyone had an umbrella and I was constantly dodging, sometime unsuccessfully, their edges, which were swinging at my neck. With my head down, I quickly passed 
through multiple temples and shrines and headed back into town and found a place to warm up, read and forget about the wetness.
After I headed back to the Ajisai dera from the week before. The flowers had grown and spread: magnificent. The rain refused to slow and the mood was unstable, so I only stayed for a few minutes before taking flight westward. I had a crazy idea to make it to Hokokuji (bamboo temple) before 5pm, to complete my goals for the day. So I ran and walked about two miles through the pouring rain without a map. For nearly an hour, I zigzagged through side streets, (and often had to retrace my steps) before arriving at Hokokuji at 4:50. As I approached the
steps, I read a sign that said it had closed at 4:00. I could not enter. A victory and a defeat. I walked back to Kamakura station drenched, overcome by the noon-tide and ready for some warm soup and a hot shower.
It was a day of ups and downs, but complete. Later that night I felt satisfied and ready for the week. I awoke the next morning with fire.
The day began at 6:00, as I prayed, cooked a big breakfast, caught a set of trains and arrived in Kamakura. As I arrived and headed north, I was absorbed into the morning tide: a time of gray
skies, lone wandering and stillness. As I walked I was drawn into village shrines: small well kept buildings, with distinct gateways, surrounding gardens of well-trimmed vegetation and well-positioned stones. Entry brought a surge of awareness of bright colors and thoughts of the meaning of the place to the local people. I thought how over hundreds of years people with hope, people with devastation and people with glory have come to pray at this spot. I thought of how time absorbed their emotions into the atmosphere and the illumination that I experienced was a manifestation of this long string of Moments of Truth.Then I headed up the mountain and followed the signs to a temple. The entrees to the inner gardens and buildings were closed, but the pathways that surrounded the gates were open. I walked in awe of the vegetation, placed so thoughtfully in and around the caves, at the gateways and surrounding paths. Next I found a cave, near a plot of maples and ajisai and entered to meditate. It was my first experience meditating in a
cave and it brought a heightened sensitivity to the sounds of nature and body-shaking vibrations while chanting.I then walked down the mountain and followed a wave of people to the most popular Zen temples. Soon I landed at Engaku-ji, a temple built in commemoration of Japan’s unification and defeat of the Mongols and in the solace of those lost. The temple’s grounds were filled with nearly 20 buildings, coy ponds and gongs. As I walked through, a monk was teaching a meditation class to a large group of sitting students.
As I hiked up the rain came. I wore my jacket like a cape, protecting my backpack from the rain, while enjoying the cool summer shower on my head. I wandered to a blocked off garden surrounded by large buildings with traditional architecture. There was a monk chanting loudly and I listened. I stood for awhile as a large crowd of Japanese joined. The chant was answered by a chest piercing gong and responding chants from the other monks. As I left the garden gateway, I stood and watched the coy in the rain and saw the gong radiate in the water.Eventually, as all do who stand in the rain, I got wet and found shelter for lunch. I arose from lunch with the sedating noontide that came with an unrelenting rain that made me wetter and wetter, as I hiked south. (Although wet and
uncomfortable, the air was warm and I knew the chances of sickness were slim.) Nearly everyone had an umbrella and I was constantly dodging, sometime unsuccessfully, their edges, which were swinging at my neck. With my head down, I quickly passed 
through multiple temples and shrines and headed back into town and found a place to warm up, read and forget about the wetness.After I headed back to the Ajisai dera from the week before. The flowers had grown and spread: magnificent. The rain refused to slow and the mood was unstable, so I only stayed for a few minutes before taking flight westward. I had a crazy idea to make it to Hokokuji (bamboo temple) before 5pm, to complete my goals for the day. So I ran and walked about two miles through the pouring rain without a map. For nearly an hour, I zigzagged through side streets, (and often had to retrace my steps) before arriving at Hokokuji at 4:50. As I approached the
steps, I read a sign that said it had closed at 4:00. I could not enter. A victory and a defeat. I walked back to Kamakura station drenched, overcome by the noon-tide and ready for some warm soup and a hot shower.It was a day of ups and downs, but complete. Later that night I felt satisfied and ready for the week. I awoke the next morning with fire.
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