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Group Writing: Living in the Shadows
He’d had a long, productive life. On reflection, he said he had no complaints. He took care of himself, ate right, and took regular exercise. He’d raised an independent brood, all who eventually went on to make their own way in the world. He tried to talk them into staying close by, but they were determined to forge their own paths. And now he’d outlived them all.
Unfortunately, life changed in these parts. He had always felt free and independent, keeping his own schedule and company. He explored whenever he felt like it, relaxed when he could and pretty much lived a life of leisure. He’d always been a night owl; the silence and safety of darkness never stopped having its appeal.
But he no longer felt appreciated here. There were ominous signs that the welcome mat was being withdrawn, that he had overstayed his welcome and that he needed to reconsider his options.
Making that kind of change just seemed so difficult. Where would he go? At his age, making such a radical change might be too much for him to contemplate. Maybe he’d simply lived too long and it was time to enter the next world. . . but suddenly he screamed, wait, no not that, no, let me be, I’m not ready to go yet, can’t someone help me…?
In his last moments . . . 
There was no one near. I was the only human I could see.
I was camping nearby in a campground with about 15 other people. I usually walked from the campground toward the nearby beach, but one morning I went off toward a different direction following a trail to a high rocky point.
The point was deserted except for me, the ocean, the rocks, the roaches and the shrine. I didn’t even see any of the macaques, the yaku-zaru, that are native to the island, on the point, and they were always around the nearby campground.
The only place I noticed the roaches on the island was here, near the shrine.
The ocean was incredibly blue and it was a simply gorgeous day.
I wish I still had that diary so I could tell you more about what I remember, but it was stolen with my backpack from a campsite in Oregon a couple of years later.
Shinto is older than Buddhism. It is considered an animistic religion, in which spirits, or kami, of trees, mountains, beautiful rocky points, are recognized as alive and honored. Even traditions have a spirit.
There are organized Shinto shrines, with Shinto priests and such, but there are also little shrines all over the country that remind me of the Catholic statues that one sees in people’s gardens in that they are private devotions, not organizational ones.
Many Japanese, at least when I was there last century, consider themselves to be both Buddhist and Shinto. Most people I knew went to both big shrines (Shinto) and temples (Buddhist) depending on the season or the ceremony.
One more comment about Yakushima: The Japanese movie director Hayao Miyazaki is known for his breathtaking artistry and his powerful Princess Mononoke is inspired by the landscape of Yakushima. It is a small volcanic island that juts up to over 6,000 feet from sea level.
The hiking there is amazing and amazingly steep. I fell backward down a steep trail when a peacock shrieked in the woods and startled me as I was crouched watching a yaku-shika, a little Yakushima deer, on the trail above me. The sound unbalanced me enough that I lost it and bounced backward for about 10 feet on my backpack.
There is a famous cedar tree type that grows on the island, yakusugi, and one is at least several thousand years old and a Shinto kami, Jomon-sugi.