Long ago pilgrims would travel great distances to visit a holy spring, or to drink from a sacred well. But we don’t give much thought to springs nowadays. Water runs from our taps, or else we drink bottled ‘spring’ water’ available in shops. Our hands have forgotten how it feels to dip into clear sweet-tasting water. How often do we kneel on mossy banks to gaze at our reflection mirrored on the surface of a glistening pool of water? Not often.
Recently I accompanied a small group of meditation teachers from various traditions on a pilgrimage to Kyushu island in Japan. Kyushu still has wild parts. Looking out from the window of the mini van one could easily fantasize the form of a lone samurai emerging from the misty pine groves we passed or indigo-clad farmers working in the rice fields along the road. Water dripped off the cliffs. Escaping through rocks, it flowed and rushed down woodsy ravines to the roads that followed the curves and shapes of the landscape. Here, it was easy to accept that nature had been revered by the ancient Shinto tradition of Japan for more than three thousand years.
One of our stops was to be a sacred fountainhead, a hidden spring in the forest, off a main street of a small Japanese village. Before our group arrived at the spring we had become accustomed to beauty. We had paid homage at a Buddhist temple and Shinto shrine. We had seen farmsteads, look out points, walked a forest trail, delighted in a cave of thousands of tiny balanced rock cairns. We had stood at the edge of the famous Takachiho gorge, looking down upon a luminous river of liquid aquamarine meandering between rugged cliff-sides. None of these experiences, however, prepared us for the moment we knelt along the soft green bank of the Shirakawa water spring.
Nestled in a pine grove this bewitching pond was difficult to see at first as it reflected the pine trees around it. Like looking into a polished mirror, it confused our eyes. The trees around the pool stood as guardians with a loving protective gaze lest we intruders did not recognize the sanctity of what we were being shown. This was a nature temple and it was holy. The water was alive and the fragrant herbs and moss knew they were blessed to drink from this secret wonder.
The spring was not very deep and as one focused carefully looking closer one could see the tiny bubbles of water escaping the earth’s core through the sandy bottom. Under the smooth surface emerald like plants swayed in this crystal bath. Experienced travelers, none of our group had ever seen such clear water. Like children, we stood hushed, with eyes wide, as though we had seen a unicorn step through the trees.
The spring produces 60 tons of water per minute, the source of the Shirakawa river that that eventually makes its way to Kumamoto city. I wondered if the urban-dwellers realized they were drinking from an ancient oracle, that if we could hear it, would answer us with long-forgotten wisdom. It might say, “Drink and quench your thirst. It is a gift freely given. I ask nothing in return.”