## Spiritual pilgrimage under Mount Fuji
#Fuji #Shinobi Hakkai #Kawaguchiko
At 4 o'clock in the morning, I stood by the Yamanaka Lake, watching Mount Fuji reflected on the mirror-like lake. The sky was pale, and the outline of the mountain gradually became clear, like an ink painting slowly unfolding. The lake water was slightly cool, and the mountain breeze was blowing on my face. I suddenly understood why the Japanese regarded Mount Fuji as a sacred mountain - it is not only a mountain, but also a spiritual embodiment. This dormant volcano, in a nearly perfect cone shape, quietly overlooks the Kanto Plain and every pilgrim who comes to make a pilgrimage.
The spring water of Shinobi Hakkai is clear and the eight springs are scattered like pearls in this quaint village. I squatted down and scooped up a handful of water with my hands. It was icy cold. The water plants at the bottom of the water swayed with the waves, and a few small fish passed by. The local old man told me that this spring water comes from the snowmelt of Mount Fuji, which has been filtered underground for decades before it emerges to the surface. I think Mount Fuji not only gives people a visual shock, but also connects with every life in this way - through a drop of water, a blade of grass, and a fish. Walking slowly in Oshino Village, time seems to be washed by spring water, becoming slow and transparent.
The lavender in Oishi Park has not yet fully bloomed, but the air is already filled with a faint fragrance. Looking at Mount Fuji from the park, the mountain is surrounded by the new green of early summer, and there is still some snow on the top of the mountain. Tourists of different skin colors and languages stop here and raise their cameras at the same time. I suddenly realized that the beauty of Mount Fuji transcends cultural boundaries. It is like a silent wise man who can touch the deepest instinctive perception of beauty in people's hearts without words. A white-haired couple sat on a bench, quietly looking at the mountain shadows in the distance. Their backs merged with the scenery, forming a picture of time and eternity.
There are many tourists on the shore of Lake Kawaguchi, but it is unexpectedly not noisy. I rented a bicycle and rode along the lakeshore. The wind blew up the corners of my shirt, and Mount Fuji sometimes flashed between the shadows of the trees, and sometimes appeared in full view. This kind of looming beauty is more exciting than the spectacular sight that can be seen at a glance. During a short break on the way, I bought a blue-packaged "Mount Fuji Limited" ice cream, which was sweet but not greasy, just like the memory of this day.
The Lawson convenience store, which became popular due to social media, does provide a unique angle to shoot Mount Fuji. But what impressed me more was the smile of the clerk-no matter how many tourists holding cameras they faced, they always maintained a professional service attitude. At this symbolized check-in point, the warmth of humanity makes the scenery warm.
In front of the Churei Pagoda in Arakurayama Sengen Park, I met several old men from Kansai. They told me that when they were young, they had agreed to climb Mount Fuji together. Although their legs and feet are inconvenient now, they are satisfied to be able to look far away from the bottom of the mountain. "Some scenery doesn't have to be conquered," one of them said, "It's also a kind of happiness to be able to look up." Standing on the steps of the park, watching Mount Fuji gradually turn golden and red in the twilight, I suddenly understood the importance of "Ma" (ま) in Japanese culture - the appropriate distance can see a more complete beauty.
The retro shopping street in Fujiyoshida exudes the atmosphere of the Showa era. In the old wooden buildings, traditional crafts and modern cultural and creative products coexist harmoniously. I bought a round fan with a Mount Fuji pattern printed on it. The owner, the old lady, carefully wrapped it and said in not very fluent English: "Please take the wind of Mount Fuji home." Walking on the stone road, the sunset stretched my shadow very long, intertwining with the shadow of the lantern under the eaves.
On the return bus, I looked at the outline of Mount Fuji that was gradually moving away, and remembered what a Japanese poet said: "The mountain is not in the height, but in the state of mind." On this day's journey, I never climbed Mount Fuji, but I felt that my soul had completed a pilgrimage. The scenery of lakes and mountains, the human feelings of the market, like the snow water of Mount Fuji, seeps into my heart. The real travel is not about collecting many attractions, but about letting the scenery change the way we see the world. Mount Fuji is still standing there, but in my heart, a Mount Fuji of my own has been established.