Climbing Japan’s Sacred Mountain in a Bright Red Dress — A Small Journey During Shōman

I recently traveled to Nara, the ancient capital of Japan.

There were two reasons for the trip.
One was to finally meet my fellow fortune-teller and friend, Sachiko Nakano, in person
after only seeing each other through Zoom screens for so long.
The other was to climb Mount Miwa, the sacred mountain of Ōmiwa Shrine.

In Japan, some mountains are believed to be the dwelling place of gods.
Mount Miwa is one of them.

At Ōmiwa Shrine, the mountain itself is considered the sacred body of the deity.
Because of this, photography is forbidden.
Eating is forbidden too, except for drinking water.
Even stones or leaves cannot be taken home.

The entire mountain is treated with quiet reverence.

I had heard the mountain was about 460 meters high, so I assumed it would be manageable.
Then I arrived at the entrance.

Everyone around me looked fully prepared for serious hiking —
proper mountain gear, hiking poles, sturdy boots.

And there I was, standing in a bright red dress.

I was wearing sneakers at least, but still.
For a moment, I seriously considered turning back.

But Sachiko and her husband smiled and told me, "You'll be fine."
So I took a deep breath and started climbing.

The trail was far steeper than I had imagined.

After the first stretch, my legs were already protesting.
Sweat poured down my face, and the stone paths seemed endless.
I remember thinking that even the famous Konpira pilgrimage stairs in Shikoku
suddenly felt gentle in comparison.

Still, I didn't want to quit halfway.

So instead of looking up at the mountain ahead, I kept my eyes on my feet.
One step. Then another.

As we climbed, people coming down the mountain would gently call out to us:
"You're almost there." "Keep going."

They were complete strangers, but their kindness settled softly into my tired body.

Moments like that remind me that warmth still exists everywhere,
quietly waiting between people.

At the summit, there was only a small shrine.
But the air felt entirely different there.

Soft sunlight filtered through the trees, swaying gently in the wind.
As I stood there catching my breath, something strange happened —
the sweat that had been pouring down suddenly stopped,
as if the mountain itself had wrapped me in cool air.

For a moment, it felt as though nature was taking care of me.

The descent was another challenge altogether.
My knees trembled the whole way down.

But after receiving so much encouragement on the climb,
I found myself calling out to others still making their way up:
"You're almost there."

It felt natural to pass the kindness forward.

---

Our visit happened just as Japan entered Shōman,
one of the 24 traditional seasonal divisions in the old calendar.

Shōman literally means "small fullness."
It is the season when plants grow thick with life,
when young grains begin to swell,
and when the world quietly starts to feel full again.

Not overflowing. Not complete.
Just gently, steadily filling.

The green of Mount Miwa carried exactly that feeling.

As I walked beneath the trees, breathing in the scent of earth and leaves,
I felt something simple but important:

Good energy comes from many places.
From people. From nature. From the seasons themselves.

And sometimes, it arrives when you least expect it.

---

Though honestly…

Mount Miwa was beautiful beyond words.

But I am fairly certain this was my first and last mountain climb.

Some lessons arrive together with sore knees.