Taking the Pure: The Day of the Jichinsai

This is what we found when we arrived at the site last Saturday--a beautiful, bright and sunny day, with nothing remaining on the lot but what you can see here--the pile of Sajima ishi and the tree. And a brilliant red and white curtain enclosing three sides of a Shinto altar. It was the day of the Jichinsai, the ritual of ground purification that marks the start of construction, and according to the kannushi, the Shinto priest from the Yokohama shrine who conducted the ceremony, we couldn't have picked a more auspicious day. It's a pretty straightforward concept: calling various gods who may be disturbed by the construction, making some offerings, and asking for acceptance.

It lasted for 30 minutes or so--and was moving in its simplicity. The three of us took the front seats, you could say (if there were seats), and T, the architect, Y, the contractor, and the site manager also took part, standing slightly behind us.

After purifying the offerings and all of us, the kannushi performed the koushingi, the calling of the gods. The prayer culminated with a long, nasal oooooooooh note that spilled out of the space enclosed by the curtain as it rose in pitch and volume, that was followed by two claps. The gods were now with us.

So it was time to make the offerings: of rice, sake, the bounty of the sea, represented by some dried squid, and the bounty of the mountains, represented by squash, apples, carrots, a sweet potato, and--for some reason--a pineapple, which I'm pretty sure is not on the list of local produce. (But, since it was given to us later, along with the leftovers of the other offerings, did make a nice addition to breakfast the next morning.) The chanted prayer asking for safety and good fortune was hard to follow, but we could make out my name and the name of the contractor.
That was followed by the more solemn Shihoubarainogi, in which the kannushi went to each of the four corners, and tossed pieces of hemp fiber like confetti.


He then left the space and went over to an old well that had been uncovered by the workers tearing the old place down. The contractor told us that wells are considered places where specific gods reside, so they are going to bury it under the foundation without destroying it. The hemp squares were tossed over the well, and the kannushi spent some time praying next to it. (He didn't seem to mind that he'd parked his van with one tire almost resting on the edge.)

Then it was time for our participation. There was a small cone of sand, about two-feet high, with a branch of bamboo sticking out of the top--representing the land and the forest that once covered it. The architect was handed a wooden scythe by the kannushi, and he struck the cone three times, saying, "Ei, ei, ei!" before pulling out the bamboo branch and laying it to the side. This marked the clearing of the land. Then I was handed a wooden hoe, which I also used to strike the cone of sand three times, each time shouting the "ei!" of long life. M and m repeated the action. This marked the preparing of the land, and the violation of the earth that accompanies it. Then the project manager was given a paddle, and he followed suit, marking the construction of the building.

The final bit of the ritual was the offering of the sacred sakaki branch and, following the kannushi's example, we all took turns putting the branches with the paper prayers on the little altar. Then he made a final prayer, including another long, rising nasal oooooooooh that the gods rode back to where they came from.

Then we had a toast with sake, taking a sip and pouring the rest onto the ground. In the middle of packing up, the kannushi suddenly looked around, and said--as if he'd just noticed--"What an incredible place!" Then he bent down to load his truck, while we walked around the lot with the komuten people. The boundaries of the house have been marked with red surveyor's string, which gave us a feel for what the place will be like. The lot looked surprisingly large without the two houses, which means we might have enough of a garden to grow stuff. I was also thrilled to find that the base wood piece of the tokonoma was in good shape, meaning it can be cleaned up and used for the new place.

After everyone said their thanks and goodbyes, we stood there in the empty lot. It had become very hot, 28C, but we no longer had any place to relax and we hadn’t brought any beach things. We took a walk to a local shop where we could buy some fresh shirasu, then walked down the beach, looking up at the hole in the horizon where the old place had been, and where a new one is now on the way.

Sh*t (Number Two)

I'm not lying. In the hours between my last post and a visit to the Inax showroom yesterday--a matter of less than a week--the manufacturer once again reached new frontiers in toileting. My awe as reported in the last post about Inax toilet engineers lowering the water usage from an average flush of 13 liters (3 gallons and a bit) to 6 (a gallon and a half) is no longer valid. The Eco 6 has now become the Eco 5 (another liter of water usage bites the bullet).

I know this because yesterday M and I spent the better part of a day with the contractor's rep, Y-san, and the architect, T-san, wandering about the Inax showroom with one of their sales women showing us the company take on kitchens, toilets, tiles and wash basins. As impressed as I was by dish washers that remove the grease with a grime-removing mist, and kitchen cabinets that not only hold your dishes but dry them with a toasty breeze, it's the toilet floor that rocks, straight from the display at the entry of stacked PET bottles showing how much water you save in two days with the Eco 5 toilet (above).

The design of the newest bowls are as sleek as the new Tesla, but the biggest kick is the newest thing: toilet seats that rise as you approach and lower themselves when you walk away. I couldn't tear myself away from strolling down the row of toilets to a synchronized salute of seats rearing their lids at my approach. Then I'd wait until they sensed no presence nearby and slowly closed before I'd trot by again. Fun stuff, and just the thing when you find yourself uninterested in the discussion about the space for cosmetics behind the washroom sink mirror.

(By the way, that five liters of water use by the Satis Eco 5 includes two swirling whirlpools, one to wash away the waste, another to wash away whatever waste was left by the water washing away the first waste. Or something like that: as you can imagine, my attention was still on the bowing toilet seats.)

Then it was off to the Toto showroom down the street to check out their half-unit baths. These are bathrooms (and I mean bathrooms in the Japanese sense: a room for a bath) that are one solid piece of molded material that includes the tub, the floor, and washing aparatus. It ends around the top of the tub, so that you can add any kind of wall and ceiling you want. These are dying out these days, since most people are buying whole units which is a complete cocoon from top to bottom, and easier to clean.

We picked the half unit because we want to do the walls and ceiling in hinoki, or Japanese cypress, which is one of the greatest smelling woods around. It's the wood that the best of the old Japanese wooden baths were made of and, in fact, there was still an oval hinoki bathtub in the Akiya house when I first started renting there. You had to keep water in it to keep it from drying out, but it was an old one and when the slats of the carefully fitted tub walls started splitting there was nothing else to do but tear it up while tearing up.


We walked past the Toto toilets while we were there, and and it was hard not to love the display case of little ceramic toilets on the shelf overlooking the madness of west Shinjuku. I thought they were ashtrays, but they're actually used to set on tile samples to give customers a feel for the color scheme.

Toto did compete on the cool scale, being on the 27th floor next to one of Japan's architectural wonders, but all said and done, I'm an Inax man. You can't beat a line up of toilets that ooze as much personality as the Pixar lamp.