I boarded the train in Tokyo. It was the first week of November, 1987. Most, if not all, of the gods had been placed and I was looking forward to this trip as closure to a confusing, but ultimately rewarding, five years.

Kazz hopped on in Osaka a few hours later, wearing a three-piece suit, which surprised me. I had only seen him dressed casually or in Shinto robes. "Bought in Turkey for $70, " Kazz said proudly, tugging on the vest as he sat down next to me and the train continued south.

He seemed more relaxed than on my previous visits. He had put on weight. We talked about cameras and computers, and it was actually a few minutes before we turned to the Sword of Heaven.

I told him about Iceland, Berlin, and the Baltic Sea.

"The last placings were so easy compared to Florida and the Philippines," I said.

"Except Puerto Rico," I added. "Donna and I..."

Kazz waited.

"We broke up," I said finally.

He looked disappointed. "I'm sorry," he said.


As the bullet train sped south, Kazz explained that at the end of the week we would participate in one of the most ancient and important Shinto rites: the fire ceremony. During the ceremony, he said, we would make direct contact with the spirit world and pray for humanity.

"You will be the first Westerner to witness it," he said.

"What about Juan?" I asked.

"No," replied Kazz.

It suddenly occurred to me to ask where the teacher Takizawa was, and how he was doing.

"He's fine. He's still in Osaka," answered Kazz. "He will arrive at the end of the week, in time for the ceremony."

"In the meantime, who will conduct the classes?" I asked.

"The other teachers."

"Others?"

"I told you," replied Kazz. "Takizawa is just one of several disciples of Tomokiyo, the founder of the monastery."

Now I remembered that Takizawa was also keeping the Sword of Heaven project secret from them. Why?

"Actually, he told them about the project a year ago," said Kazz in response to my question. "In fact, he wrote a book about the project."

A book? This was the first I had heard of a book.

"He published it himself and printed a few hundred copies. He gave the other teachers copies and they were very upset. They asked him to put the book away and not to sell or give away any more copies."

"Were they angry?"

"No. They just didn't like that he had kept a secret from them."

"But he's still part of the group? He's still welcome at the monastery?"

"Oh yes, there is no problem."

This time I didn't even try to understand.


We both fell asleep, and woke just before Hiroshima, where we were required to change to a local train.

It was my second visit to this tragic city, but I expect that my reaction would have been the same had it been my 20th. The place evokes horror and disbelief, a reminder of how far humans will go to destroy each other. On the surface, things look normal: nearly all of the city has been rebuilt since that August day in 1945 when 90% of the town was vaporized, by the atomic bomb dubbed"Little Boy". It was a military action, carefully planned and executed to end World War II, but to the people on the ground it must have seemed more like the apocalypse itself, an instant judgment by a faceless god.

At the epicenter of the blast stands a memorial called Peace City. The original city hall -- which was only partially destroyed -- has been turned into a museum with shadows of humans etched in concrete. The first time I visited, there was an exhibit of drawings by adults who were children when the blast occurred. The horrific drawings were done as therapy, an attempt to exorcise the terror their creators couldn't forget. Many contained bodies melting under rays of light; pieces of arms, legs, and heads, floating in rivers red with blood; and blackened eyes looking pleadingly to the sky. The mushroom cloud was ever-present, and in many of the drawings it actually looked beautiful.

Kazz and I ate lunch at a station noodle shop and then went to a nearby grocery store to buy dried fruit, nuts, cheese and orange juice for the rest of our journey.

We boarded a local train full of school children, all healthy and full of laughter and fun. The train stopped frequently on its slow trip along the coast to the small town of Tabuse and passed the famous Miyajima shrine that rose gracefully from the sea. There we hailed a taxi to take us to the monastery at the base of Mount Iwakiyama.


As we drove toward the cluster of one-and two-story buildings, Kazz explained that when Tomokiyo founded the monastery, "he believed that all the ancient Shinto knowledge should be kept here and that after the apocalypse, it would become a sort of fune or ark that would preserve all knowledge. "

I was thinking that his description of the mountain retreat was very much like the one of Shangri-La, the mythical country tucked in the Himalayan mountains, far away from the dangers of the world. But then I realized that we were only a few hours from Hiroshima.

"Did the blast reach this far?" I asked.

"They heard the explosion," answered Kazz. "In fact, one of the teachers at Iwakiyama made the mistake of going into Hiroshima two hours after the blast. He has had medical trouble ever since. He never had children."

The taxi left us at the base of the mountain, in front of an office where Kazz introduced me to the monastery's administrator and three teachers who happened by. I filled out papers that I could not read with my name and address. Kazz paid for my room and lodging, explaining that Takizawa was my benefactor. I reached for my wallet and protested, but this time Kazz was insistent.


After we completed the paper work we walked outside, where we were surrounded by brightly colored deciduous trees. Behind the office were two large auditoriums filled with tatami mats. Kazz explained that this was where we'd sleep and attend classes

"And up there," said Kazz as he pointed up the hill to a large building with a high arching ceiling of wood, "is one of the many shrines on the mountain. And beyond it, farther up the mountain, near the summit, is our most important shrine. We call it Yamato-Jinjya, and it represents the center of the spiritual world on this earth. That's where we will hold the fire ceremony."

As we strolled around the monastery compound Kazz explained that during the next three days we'd purify our bodies in preparation for the fire ceremony. We were required to eat only Kessai food, which meant no chemicals, nothing powdered (including tofu), no eggs, no miso, and no meat. There was to be no talking between the students, but Kazz had received special permission to translate the lessons for me.


That night after a last "normal" dinner of tofu, cabbage, green tea and a nectarine for desert, I was introduced to the participants. Some had come from as far away as Hokkaidom, the northernmost island. I recognized a few from the ceremonies on my first two trips to Japan. They were happy to see me. In his enthusiasm, one chubby man from Osaka bashed his bowed head into mine. We patted each other's hair and laughed.

Before going to bed, I was given a two-piece kimono. One piece was skirt-like and the other like a large shirt. After I put it on, I made the mistake of looking at myself in a mirror. I looked absurdly tall and awkward. I quickly turned away.

I was also given an amulet to wear around my neck. There was one vertical bar with an emblem of the shrine set in relief in the middle. Along the axis was a single bar running to the left. Further down was another bar running right. If the two side pieces were slid to meet one another, it looked like a Christian cross

............................................

"The disjointed side bars are in the process of coming together," Kazz told me as he hung the medallion over my head. "It's this process -- the act of becoming -- that Shinto is primarily concerned with, not so much with being."



For the next three days we awoke at dawn to begin the day with a short chanting ceremony at the shrine near the auditoriums. Then we breakfasted on the specially prepared food, which tasted bland but was edible. Classes started promptly after breakfast and lasted until lunch, with one midmorning break.

During the half-hour break, I'd sit at a makeshift desk near the window and write, or watch my fellow participants rake leaves from the sandy driveway and clean the troughs around the shrine.


Although there were hints of the ascetic in our strict diet and vow of silence, Kazz told me that stoicism is not for a Shintoist. "The teacher says not to bother being a puritanical saint. The kami way is free, easy, rich and grand. If you weaken your body with too much discipline you leave it open for bad spirits. If you suffer for enlightenment, you come to love emptiness."

We certainly weren't suffering. At night, after our lessons, we sat in Japanese baths, soaking quietly. The hot water relaxed my stiff legs and knees, which were unfamiliar with squatting and kneeling. I slept well: Students who snored were quickly given a room alone. I never felt hunger (Kazz had thoughtfully brought dried fruits and nuts). I was surrounded by considerate and polite people. It didn't rain. It wasn't too cold and the fall leaves were beautiful.


The four classes were different each of the three days. The subjects could have come from the front pages of a supermarket tabloid -- soul stabilization, astral travel, ESP, and spirit possession -- but they were given the dignity and respect of an ancient tradition that has helped people deal with their demons (inner or outer, for there was no distinction) for centuries. I remember thinking how strange our own western psychology must seem to these people: the mind separate from the body, consciousness separate from the unconscious, observer separate from the observed. It would probably be as inconceivable to them as the western idea of man separate from God and Nature.


"Shinto means 'Way of the Gods' in Japanese," said Kazz quietly during one of the first classes. "Other religions explain the way, while Shinto shows the way to power.

"Ota-dana , sound purification, is a good example," he said. "Just now the teacher is explaining that it only takes a few minutes each day. Just sit comfortably, and listen closely to a fixed sound like the sound of a clock or a metronome, a waterfall or sea wave, a little stream or even an insect. Don't try and stop your mind, because then it will do the opposite! Just listen, that's all.

"Sound is the most pure of all matter in the world," continued Kazz. "All beings are moved by the cosmic vibration. Even Amaterasu-omikami, the sun goddess, was lured from her cave by the sound of her brother's voice. We are all connected by sound vibrations. We become one with the sound. If you listen carefully during Ota-dana you can feel the solar system dashing through space at full speed."


In another class we were taught Chinkon-Ho, or soul stabilization, a method of fixing the soul to the center of the body. I wasn't sure if it would stabilize my soul, but it sounded like another pleasant way to reduce stress. We were told to first acquire a special stone, which would become a symbol of the sun goddess' sacred jewel. It was best if the stone was round, under six inches in diameter, old, heavy and hard. It should be picked from a mountain stream or holy place. It should be washed frequently in water and kept in a soft fabric bag. It should never be shown to others.

We were told to sit upright in front of a small stand which held the stone, then to position our fingers and hands carefully so that the first fingers of each hand stood straight up and the tips touched. The left thumb was placed softly across the right one while the other fingers were crossed inside the palm. Then we were told to close our eyes and concentrate on the stone for twenty minutes. During this time we were to chant a special prayer which went like this:

Hito-Futa-Mi-Yo-Itsu-Muyu-Nan-Ya-Koko-no-to, or heaven-earth-body-this world-nature comes out-all has a group-it disappears at last-the spirit goes up to the sky-it comes back to heaven-it stops here again.

The verse was derived from a famous event in the Kojiki, when the sun goddess hid herself in the celestial cave and the world became dark. The verse is the same that gods chanted while they danced around the cave's entrance trying to entice her to return. According to legend, the scene was so comical that other gods laughed and their laughter opened the gate blocking the cave.


While I appreciated lessons in Ota-dana and Chinkon-Ho , which seemed to have practical applications, my critical mind kicked in when one teacher started talking about Yusai, or spirit possession.

"There are three types of spirit possession of the soul," translated Kazz while the very serious teacher explained. "Shinkan is considered the highest possession. It comes directly from the highest God to man. It is subtle and one is never aware of the possession until much later.

"Jikan is possession by one god or another without the use of a medium.

"Takan is possession with a medium. Takan is the most dramatic form of possession. It's very dangerous. Often mere animal spirits or unenlightened spirits take possession of a person. Sometimes what is thought of as a spirit possession is nothing more than an over active nervous system.

"Don't be fooled by these lowly spirits," added Kazz, as he continued to translate the lecture "They are very mischievous. They can lift a sword in the air, or emanate a light, but the clever spirits are just using your energy to do this.

"The relationship between these spirits and man is like that of a television and a broadcast station. You have to be careful what channel you switch to. A little self-conceit or egotism switches you immediately to a black kami channel. Its shadow then covers the golden light of the white kami.

"The astral world is like a mirror making an instant reflection on this side. Be careful of your state of mind! To be a spiritual soldier for good, the mind must be pure and strong."

Sometimes people become possessed by a deity who refuses to leave. These people become ikigami, or living kami ,and everything associated with them -- writings , scriptures, songs, hymns, gestures etc. -- became sacred.

We weren't taught the actual methods of Yusai because of the "danger of misuse". These methods were reserved -- suspiciously, I thought -- for more "advanced" students.

Perhaps if I had actually witnessed proof of the existence of the spirit world, I might not have been so skeptical.


In any case, I especially liked the description of the Shinto pantheon.

The teacher for the class on this subject was a kindly, elderly man who was renowned for his skill as an archer. The astral world, he explained, is divided into a white kami world and a black kami world. Each of the gods or kamis have limited ability and power. At the center of the pantheon is the supreme kami -- Ameno-Minakanushi-no-kami -- so sacred and mysterious it lives well beyond our normal senses. It is too subtle to manifest itself, and is said to live in a heavenly world situated near the North Star.

The second cosmic kami is Amaterasu-omikami, the Sun Goddess, who is the direct ruler of the solar system. She has the divine world inside and a fire outside. The emperor is believed to be a direct descent of the Sun Goddess.

There are 181 classes of kami, and each kami has its own name, character and world.

It is Okuninushi-no-kami, the first earthly kami, who judges where a person goes after death. The choices are to become a part of some kami, to become a part of something of no value or to be reborn as a human again.

What makes a white kami and what makes a black one? Kazz tried to explain that evil as a fixed or constant entity as we know it in the West really doesn't exist in Shinto. The white or good kami are pure, inspire noble deeds, and make a person happy and rich. Black or bad kami are simply impure and the opposite of the white kami. But, to confuse things, the black kami can also bring luck or healing. Nothing is fixed or dogmatic. The gods, like humans, have free will.

The higher the spirit is in the pantheon of gods, the more information or knowledge it has, as well as power. It is therefore important to choose carefully to which god a question should be addressed.

"After all, you wouldn't bother a high god with a simple question that could very well be answered by a lower spirit," said the teacher.

"Kami world is very very busy." translated Kazz. "Our gods help men of wisdom and courage, but it is often better to do something by ourselves, without asking for help."


The discussion on ancestor worship took place on the third and last day.

"All evil comes when ancestors are forgotten," explained a teacher, the one who had entered Hiroshima after the bomb was dropped.

"No one who ignores his duty to his ancestors will ever be disrespectful of the gods or his living parents."

He went on to say that all our strengths, weakness and courage come from those who passed before us and gave us life. If proper funeral and memorial rites are not performed for a dead person, it is believed that the dead spirit will wander through the human world and haunt people. Only special rituals, which were described but not taught, could correct this condition.

"Think of the family lineage as a river," he said finally. "Clean water travels downstream. But if someone upstream pollutes the water then somewhere along the way someone must do the cleaning."

This time he explained different ways that this cleansing could take place, but I wasn't paying attention. I was thinking how the Sword of Heaven project had become my ritual cleansing: a way of both honoring those before me and perhaps making things easier for those to come.

Chapter Twenty