At the summit of Mount Fuji — a quiet shrine honoring Konohanasakuya-hime, the goddess of volcanoes and blossoms.

Japan | Ten to Chi to Hito

Heaven, Earth, and People — from Mount Fuji to Hiroshima

Some journeys leave behind a rhythm. This one through Japan traced a quiet thread I had felt in other places: fog and fire on Mount Fuji, morning chants in Koyasan, the silence of Hiroshima. Each moment carried a kind of presence — not explained, but felt — that found its way into the spirit of Bang to Being.

Mount Fuji

We climbed Mount Fuji — slow steps into fog, the ground soft with ash and silence. We didn’t expect a view. That wasn’t the point.

Near the summit stood a quiet shrine to Konohanasakuya-hime, the goddess of the mountain, volcanoes, and blossoms. People had left flowers and coins on stone ledges. There were no signs, no ceremonies, just quiet offerings.

To say: I was here.

On the way to Koyasan, we stopped in Nagoya — visited Toyota’s museum and watched a surprisingly meditative rhythm on the assembly line.

Koyasan

We later stayed in Koyasan, a small temple town tucked into the forested mountains of Wakayama. The monks there rise early and chant for peace each day.

We watched them prepare for the morning goma — a fire ceremony rooted in Shingon tradition, where offerings are made not just as ritual, but as purification and transformation.

The gestures were different, but the atmosphere felt familiar. Every morning, my grandfather would perform a havan in Rohtak, a town in northern India — a simple Vedic fire ritual in the Arya Samaj tradition, rooted in truth and renewal. The rhythm was different, but the feeling was the same: quiet intent, reverence, and care.

It was the same quiet rhythm I’d felt across temples in India and Nepal — a kind of stillness not shaped by explanation, but by devotion. By attention to what can’t be explained — only honored.

Atomic Bomb Dome in Hiroshima — a silent witness to the devastation and memory of August 1945.

Hiroshima

Next, we visited Hiroshima — a city that carries a silence heavier than words.

Inside the Peace Memorial Museum, people don’t speak. They cry, not loudly, but without holding back, standing before what remains.

A child’s tricycle.
A torn school uniform.
A shadow scorched into stone.
Not just artifacts, but memory held in place.

It brought back a deeper question:
What happens when intelligence moves faster than awareness?
When design forgets intent?

That silence isn’t only remembrance. It’s a responsibility — to stay awake to what we create, and to the rhythm we choose to carry forward.

Just one story, among many, that helped shape Bang to Being.

Thanks for reading.