One by one we filed into a small clearing in the woods near the main shrine. The night sky was filled with stars. Someone used a spark to ignite a large fire in the middle of the clearing, and as the fire consumed the stacks of wood the people around me softly chanted. One of the participants pounded slowly on a huge wooden drum that was strapped to his chest. The sound reminded me of a pulsing heart. The wooden boxes containing the sacred objects which had been so carefully carried up the mountain were paraded around the fire. Bamboo was tossed on the fire, which crackled and spit like an angry serpent. A woman stood in the middle of the circle and read from a scroll. I recognized Japanese words such as stone, gate, and open, and I understood she was asking the gods to let us in. The fire glowed on everyone’s faces, and I could tell they looked as though they were slipping into a deep trance. I pulled out my camera, knowing I needed something to remind me that this was really happening. After I snapped a few frames, I put the camera down. I didn’t want picture taking to interfere with my experiencing the ceremony.

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