Ise Peninsula: Into the Mystic

Japan Forward

08-05-2025

Traveling through the Ise Peninsula is a little like passing through an ancient force field. The land, if not entirely of the gods, is one of powerful, at times even tangible, forces.
Centered on the grid of Ise Jingu, a complex of shrines and dedicatory sites, transmissions from the spot radiate throughout the peninsula. They manifest themselves in the number of shrines, many of them sea-facing, temples, dedication stones, religious statues, and miniature rocks shaped into a likeness of Mount Fuji.
I hesitate to associate the area with the word "power spot," an overused expression often employed to drum up visitor numbers to formerly unremarkable sights. But the peninsula is, almost by definition, a region throbbing with the sacred. A miniature sacred Mount Fuji rock in the precincts of a local Ise shrine. (©Stephen Mansfield)
Coming by design or chance upon age-old rituals and ceremonies, watching Japanese supplicants at prayer, or making offerings in tiny forest shrines, adds to the sensation of being connected in some mysterious fashion to a powerful spiritual eminence.
Ise Jingu is the source of this supra-natural spiritual energy. It consists of worship sites not only for ordinary Japanese people and other visitors but for centuries of imperial family members.
The shrines and their sacred halls are consecrated to the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu, the putative ancestor of an imperial line believed to stretch back two thousand years. They are located in the depths of a cryptomeria forest, the perpetual twilight creating a uniquely Japanese air of sanctity.
Atmosphere surpasses the actual encounter, as the shrines can only be glimpsed from the outside. The interior is off-limits to all but the priests who serve here, high-ranking Shinto officials, members of the imperial family, and specially entitled guests. Judging from the smoothness of the trunk, many people have touched this sacred tree on the grounds of Naiku, Ise's Inner Shrine. (©Stephen Mansfield)
Photography beyond the tori gates that announce the entrance to the compounds is strictly prohibited. There is a certain irony in the fact that these simple structures, some of the most important religious monuments in the world, cannot be seen in their entirety.
It's as if the doors of Westminster Abbey or the Sistine Chapel were permanently closed, their tombs, stained-glass windows, and paintings imagined rather than confirmed. It does, though, add to a sense of impenetrable mystique. Naiku, Ise's Inner Shrine, is the stage for a surprisingly large number of rites connected to rice cultivation and harvesting.
Interestingly, the shrines at Ise, predicated on the idea of purity, are rebuilt in identical form every twenty years. The practice was begun in 690 AD, and has continued without interruption to the present day.
The next rebuilding, if you happen to be around, will take place in 2033. Judged masterpieces of native, vernacular architecture, the German architect Bruno Taut (1880–1938), overwhelmed by the majestic simplicity of the structures, declared, "The Parthenon is the most aesthetically sublime building in stone, as are the Ise shrines in wood." Simple, but architecturally pure structures at Ise Jingu. (©Stephen Mansfield)
The inner sanctums of the shrine not being open to the general public, the prohibition is responsible for the sublime irony that one of the world's foremost religious monuments remains invisible to the eye.
It may be that the spirit of the Grand Shrines, their air of sanctity and mystery, derives from the very lack of drama and exposure. It comes not from an over-abundance of religious ornamentation, but from native spatial forms that can resemble empty theaters.
A similar, but smaller set of sacred structures exists at Geku, the Outer Shrine, dedicated to Toyouke O-kami, the Divinity of Abundant Food. Some visitors prefer the proportions of this complex, which, dedicated to divinities, feels closer to the human scale.
Though similarly concealed from the sight of visitors, the Mike-den, a secondary structure of the outermost enclosure, has a fence that you can peer through and sometimes see food offerings being made.
On the way to Naiku, the bus passed Sarutahiko, an easily overlooked shrine. We later looped back to it, drawn by the sound of drums. Here, a sacred rice growing ritual was taking place, involving men and women dressed in traditional farming wear. A scene from a rice ritual at Sarutahiko Shrine. (©Stephen Mansfield) Female participants at a rice harvest ritual on the grounds of an Ise shrine. (©Stephen Mansfield)
There were already several spectators lined up around a rice paddy at the back of the shrine, and a ceremony involving sake was taking place next to the field, with two priests summoning the gods by blowing on conches. The slow, methodical movements of the sowers were mesmeric. A scene from a rice ritual at Sarutahiko Shrine. (©Stephen Mansfield) Giant fans form part of a rice-planting ritual at Sarutahiko Shrine. (©Stephen Mansfield)
Coming across the ritual was pure luck, the first of a number of auspicious events that took place over those short days. Driving into the coastal town of Futami, on the northeast coast of the peninsula, I was lucky to find a parking space, such was the number of visitors.
This was soon explained. The site of the famous Meoto Iwa, or "wedded rocks," is an image that finds itself on calendars, tourist brochures, and international airports. It was playing host to a ritual in which its two boulders were being decked out with fresh shimenawa , or sacred ropes. A participant involved in the ritual of rope placement at Meoto Iwa. (©Stephen Mansfield)
Representing the primordial deities, Izanagi and Izanami, the founding gods of Japan, the replacement process required the services of several men. Each waded through the sea to the rocks, bearing sections of the heavy rope. A simple enough task, you might think, but one necessitating great physical strength and group coordination. A "shimenawa" sacred rice fiber rope and paper "gohei" streamers encircle a sacred tree. (©Stephen Mansfield)
It was late afternoon and chilly when I made my way along a woodland path towards the waterfall of Shirataki Daimyojin, on the outskirts of Toba, a key port on the peninsula. Wood smoke emitted from a fire built up for two young women who had just finished a purification ritual known as misogi.
The ritual involved standing beneath a cooling toreent, chanting the words, " neigai tamae , kanae tamae ," meaning "pray hard, that it may come to pass." Claiming to feel thoroughly purified by the immersions, the women described their self-administered ordeal as "experience tourism."
Sights like this are less well-documented than some of the region's other highly publicized events. However, visitors who have more time to penetrate the interior of the peninsula, its forest shrines, and ancient mountain temples will discover a seemingly lost world of esoteric spiritual practices.
Exploring an intensely cultural region like this can be a thirsty business. That night I ordered two freezing cans of Simo Beer. It's a curious name, but when you hear it pronounced as "Shimo," it begins to make more sense, the spelling denoting the old name of the area.
Shinto, the faith that pervades this region, has no truck with drinking. In fact, sake is a sacred brew. It's a belief system that appears to endorse a view of life that, despite its formalistic rituals, offers a good deal of latitude.
On the Ise Peninsula, we found that alcoholic spirits and the spirit of place converge in perfect harmony, and to everyone's spiritual and bodily enrichment.
Author: Stephen Mansfield