Kokusekiji -
The Buddha Yakushi
and his Wild Generals

Yakushi, the Buddha of Healing, reigns over a lapis lazuli land in the East. He takes care of our mental and spiritual health and also grants our wishes for this lifetime. For several centuries following the introduction of Buddhism into Japan, he therefore was the most popular type of Buddha. The first and most famous representation is the bronze statue in Yakushiji in Nara, but his popularity also spread to outlying parts of the country. He can even be found in a small temple on a mountainside in southern Iwate, Kokusekiji.

Kokusekiji, the "Temple of the Black Stones" as the name means, stands near the city of Mizusawa. Legend places the founding in 729, when Gyogi set up a Yakushi Hall at the behest of Emperor Shomu. The temple burned, but was restored by Ennin in 807. The first date is suspect, as the area of Kokuseki Temple in the eight century was still populated by tribes opposed to the court in Nara, and Buddhism did not yet reach there. Buddhism came together with the armies of the central government: in heavy, long campaigns in the decades around 800 Generalissimo Sakanoue no Tamuramaro (who I already met in Kiyomizudera, at the beginning of the pilgrimage) subjugated the local tribes and conquered the north of Honshu. Kokusekiji may have been set up around that time as spiritual protection of the nearby fortress, Izawa. Recent scholarship speculates also that it may originally have been a family temple of a tribal clan that had converted to Buddhism.

I come to the temple on a day that heavy snow has blanketed the countryside. Behind the deserted parking lot, where the bus from Mizusawa drops me off, stands a dark wood. A staircase leads up under the trees. A large dog comes gliding down through the deep snow, sniffing my clothes, wagging its tail, glad to find company in the stillness of the morning.

The temple hidden by high trees

The Severe Healer...
The temple - a wooden hall and concrete storehouse next to it - is locked. To the right stands a spacious wooden structure resembling an old-fashioned manor house. It appears to be the priest's residence and temple office. When I present myself, a man in blue serge clothes comes forth carrying a heavy key. He leads me to the fireproof storehouse, where the Yakushi is housed. Originally residing in the wooden temple hall, the precious statue has been moved to this utilitarian concrete structure for protection from fire.

The storehouse is very shallow. Kneeling on the cold floor, I almost touch the statue. It towers above me, with an air that mixes sternness and kindness. Thanks to an inscription on the back, it can be exactly dated to 862. The Yakushi is 126 centimeters high, and has been carved from one block of katsura wood. Originally covered with gold-leaf, now only the black lacquer that covers the whole statue, remains. I notice that the corners of the eyes are extremely upturned. The eyes have a severe and piercing look. It is not the type of Buddha that comforts or inspires relief in the viewer, but I experience the tension and alertness of this Yakushi as refreshing.

...and his Wild Generals
Having noticed my interest in the Yakushi statue, the priest next leads me to the temple proper and opens the old wooden doors. When he turns on the faltering light, I see rows of statues, arranged on both sides of the altar, statues I did not know I would find, but which are just as fascinating as the Yakushi.

The best among these rustic sculptures are the Four Kings (Shitenno), protectors of the four directions and of Buddhism. Surprisingly, these magnificent statues are not included in any list of national cultural properties Japan is so fond of. The North still seems virgin territory, a place where you can make discoveries and find things that have not been endlessly documented in the guides. Of life-like size (about 160 cm) they strike martial poses. They look very different from the mainstream statues of Western Japan. They are massive, fleshy, with sturdy, even fat legs standing firmly on the soil. The arms are also heavy and round. The faces are relatively small, imparting an animalistic wildness. There is a certain grotesque quality, even clumsiness in the way these statues have been sculpted, but that only serves to enhance their uncouth appearance. They are an explosion of power and vitality.

When I leave, the light goes out on the statues, the wildness is covered by darkness again, the creaking doors slam shut and the dust is allowed to settle. At the staircase, the dog comes wagging his tail again. I keep looking back at the dark, dense wood that soon hides the temple and its wondrous, wild statues.