The marathon monk of Mount Hiei

The Atlas of Curiosities: Part 13

We were in the high forest above Kyoto, and we had gone to sleep for the night.  At about three in the morning, we were awakened by a quiet rustling just uphill from where our camp had been made.  A dark figure carrying a pale light glided past, his shadow danced on the surrounding trees. 

He wore a long hat in the shape of a boat which glided smoothly through the mist, unshaken by the monks footsteps. His walking stick played a lonely rhythm on the path and I attempted to stand and intercept the figure in order to ask why he was awake at this hour.  Our host put his hand firmly on my shoulder and motioned me for to remain in our camp.  The man carried a long knife, our host told me, and if he was stopped, he would disembowel himself on the spot. To aid him in his journey, the younger monks spent each day clearing his 20 mile path of rocks, twigs, and brush, to ensure that the passage was clear. 

As the sun came up, mist hung low in the trees and we made our way to the monastery, hoping to meet the returning monk.  Wiping the sweat from our brows and finding our breath short at this altitude, we were told that the run, which passes all two hundred and seventy holy shrines on Mount Hiei must be completed every day for 1,000 consecutive days.  The total distance the monk would cover over that time was greater than the circumference of the earth.

When the tapping of the walking stick could finally be heard traversing the old stones of the monastery, our host again motioned for us to be silent.  We were served tea, and sat with the runner, who was serene, showing no outward sign of exhaustion.  I could not think of a question to ask of this man, but he noticed me staring at the matted blood on his sock. 

As we descended again I could not stop thinking about the runner’s feet, wondering as I walked which young monk in his hurry had left a sharp stone on the path.