Washed Away by Rain - Shoren-in

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A steady drizzle.

It’s raining.

Kyoto is gray and sunless.

Maybe I thought too much yesterday. Or maybe it’s just the weather.

I force my unmotivated body out of the room.

I heard about a tiny wooden cafe near the castle.

Barely 70 square feet. Four bar seats. A cozy space reminiscent of a late-night diner.

I just stepped in to escape the rain, but the quiet chatter makes the room feel warm.

The owner silently sets up a filter and pours a classic Japanese hand-drip coffee.

A slightly roasted, bittersweet flavor smoothly coats my mouth.

He finishes the pour and steals a glance at my reaction.

Seeing my satisfied look, he nods slightly and lowers his head.

Without a word, he begins folding coffee filters.

Flawlessly. In his own rhythm.

I watch the repetition blankly.

It reminds me of the raked grooves at the Ryoan-ji stone garden.

Precise, delicate repetition. It’s here, too.

Only then I finally look around.

I think of a friend doing research at Kyoto University.

‘I should get him a gift.’

I grab a bag of beans.

Shoren-in

Feeling a bit lighter, I step into Shoren-in.

A warm greeting tells me to find a nice spot and enjoy the view. I step inside.

The wooden floorboards squeak.

They were probably built to make noise for a grim reason—to prevent assassinations—but to me, they just sound peaceful.

The squeaking floors and the rain drown out the chatter around me.

Next to me sits a master and a student, both radiating a strong presence.

They point at something, meet eyes, and nod.

If I had a sketchbook, I’d draw this scene immediately.

Instead, I gently press the shutter of my film camera.

(To be honest, I can’t draw anyway.)

(Click -)

The smell of wet wood.

The scent of damp moss.

To the rhythm of the creaks and the rain, my breath slowly finds its natural pace after being slightly out of sync. I stare blankly at the pond.

The lingering tension leaves my body.

My heavy, humid breath finally calms down.

At the stone garden, my thoughts spun in circles. Today, a single stream of rain at Shoren-in washes away my complex thoughts one by one.

The same Kyoto.

Two completely different experiences.

Maybe I needed both of them.

Not Alone

Even after feeling liberated at the stone garden yesterday, the emptiness in my heart hadn’t completely vanished.

It makes sense. Standing in front of that spinning stone garden right before graduating grad school, I felt a paralyzing sense of helplessness.

But sitting here in this wet temple, the lingering fog of my chaotic thoughts is washed away by the clear sound of the rain.

Only stillness remains.

And within that stillness, a tiny sensation blooms.

The vague feeling from yesterday has grown quiet and solid.

I am not the only one struggling with this question.

That’s right. At my age, in this exact place, my father asked the same question. I am not running this loop alone.

It felt like my existential loneliness—the thought that I was spinning meaninglessly in eternity—was finally washing away.

Patterns on the gravel, generations, and emotions.

Repetition. And the inherent skepticism of life.

Of course, I haven’t found a clear answer to this ancient human dilemma.

But realizing that I wasn’t completely alone in this cycle, that I had found familiar footsteps in a loop I thought I was walking alone, was a comfort in itself.

Before I knew it, the loud ringing of the rain stops, and the sun peeks through the clouds.

(To be continued in Part 3)