A Summer Solstice Visit to a Japanese Shrine: Passing Through the Ring of Reeds and Looking Ahead

The summer solstice arrived today.

It is the longest day of the year in Japan—a moment when sunlight seems to linger just a little longer and the world feels full of warmth and energy.

On this seasonal turning point, I made a visit to a shrine as part of a traditional practice called Sangō Mairi.

This is a custom in which people visit shrines in specific directions three times throughout the year. While it is rooted in traditional Japanese beliefs about timing and direction, for me it has become less about fortune and more about pausing to reflect on where I am and where I hope to go.

This year, my destination lay to the south of my home.

So I set out for Kashima Shrine, located in Takasago City, Hyogo Prefecture.

Although it is surprisingly close to where I live, I had never visited before.

Sometimes the places nearest to us are the ones we overlook the longest.

A Ring of Reeds Waiting at the Shrine

As soon as I entered the shrine grounds, I noticed a large circular ring made of reeds.

"Ah, that's right."

It was already the season of Nagoshi no Harae.

Held at shrines throughout Japan at the end of June, this centuries-old purification ritual marks the halfway point of the year. People pray for a healthy and peaceful second half of the year while symbolically letting go of accumulated worries and impurities.

One of its most recognizable traditions is passing through a large reed ring called a chinowa.

Walking through it in a figure-eight pattern is said to purify both body and mind.

Last year, I passed through a similar ring at Ōmiwa Shrine in Nara.

Standing there today, I couldn't help thinking how quickly a year passes.

As I walked through the circle, I found myself quietly looking back on the past six months.

Wishes Are Not Something You Make Once

When I visited a shrine earlier this year, I made a simple wish:

"I hope the things I want to do will continue to grow."

Now, several months later, some of those hopes are slowly taking shape.

Not all of them.

Not perfectly.

But enough to feel movement.

This time, instead of asking for something entirely new, I felt more like I was giving a progress report.

"I'm working on it."

"Things are beginning to move."

"Please continue to watch over the journey."

We often think of shrines as places where we ask for things.

But perhaps they are also places where we return and say,

"This is where I am now."

"I've come this far."

"I'm still trying."

In doing so, we are not only speaking to the gods.

We are also speaking to ourselves.

A Bold Calligraphy Stamp and a Warm Rice Cake

Before leaving, I received a goshuin—a beautifully handwritten shrine stamp that many visitors collect in special books.

The brushstrokes were powerful and full of life.

I stood there for a moment simply admiring the calligraphy.

It felt as if the energy of the shrine had been captured in ink.

Then came another small delight.

Along the shrine approach, I spotted freshly steamed kashiwa mochi.

Of course I bought one.

Kashiwa mochi is a traditional Japanese rice cake filled with sweet bean paste and wrapped in an oak leaf.

Soft.

Warm.

Freshly made.

It was delicious.

For all the spiritual reflection of the day, the highlight may have been that rice cake.

And perhaps that is part of the beauty of these seasonal outings.

Not every meaningful moment has to be profound.

Sometimes it is simply the taste of something warm enjoyed on the way home.

From the Summer Solstice Into the Next Season

The summer solstice is often thought of as the peak of light.

Yet it is also a quiet turning point.

From this day forward, daylight slowly begins to shorten.

Almost imperceptibly, the season starts to shift.

Our lives move in a similar way.

We cannot always be pushing forward.

Sometimes we need moments to pause, reflect, and realign ourselves.

Over the past six months, what has changed for you?

What has grown?

What remains unfinished?

What have you let go of?

What new path have you begun to follow?

All of those experiences become part of who we are.

My visit to Kashima Shrine on the summer solstice became a gentle reminder that progress does not always arrive dramatically.

Sometimes it arrives quietly.

One small step at a time.

As the second half of the year begins, I hope to continue forward at my own pace—without rushing, but without stopping.

And one final confession.

The blessings of the shrine were wonderful.

But that freshly steamed kashiwa mochi may have worked even faster.