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The ‘Simple Shrine’ is a shrine built simply, as the name suggests.

It feels almost as if a politician with a strange speech pattern is making overly conventional statements like, “Children must be protected because they are young,” which seems entirely obvious, yet this holds significant weight.

For Japanese people, shrines are commonplace and deeply woven into their culture—but at their essence, they are ‘religious facilities.’ And religious facilities are inevitably tied to the supernatural, to superstition.

Typically, the activities carried out in such religious spaces involve acts of repentance, faith, and prayer for good fortune.

What transpires in Japan’s shrines isn’t vastly different. Each New Year, people visit, worshiping for peace in the coming year, praying at key life milestones to ward off misfortune, and participating in local festivals which begin with agriculture and extend to the stability of the entire town—

Countless blessings and wishes are offered at these shrines.

Moving such a ‘religious facility,’ even in a simple form, is a weightier act than one might think.

Some religions allow prayers or teachings to happen anywhere. Their gods aren’t confined to shrines or temples; they wish to be always among people.

But that’s not the case with Japanese shrines.

Shinto, Japan’s folk religion, fundamentally involves enshrining gods within the shrines themselves. The Torii or gold thread signifies the boundary where gods and humans reside, separating the sacred from the mundane. It confines the dwelling of the divine and ensures that pure and clean individuals dedicate themselves to veneration.

Whether the deity dispenses blessings or calamities, this fundamental principle remains unchanged. One performs these acts to invite good gods while keeping malevolent ones captive.

Thus, delineating the dwelling of the divine and directing faith towards it is essentially the primary tenet they observe.

Of course, this basis was not established purely on religious principles. The separation of religion from the secular was also motivated by an intention to diminish the powers of the elites and facilitate the elevation of religious figures above others, and such complexities shaped these phenomena.

Classes are formed through differences, and misunderstanding deepens this divide. When such misunderstandings are wrapped in the name of belief, hierarchies are solidified. With a divine and untouchable aura.

Shinto operates like this.

And even now, it doesn’t differ much.

Each year, festivals are held at the shrines, drawing crowds and striving to implant a friendly image—even so, their intentions of separating the secular from the sacred persist today.

Therefore, constructing a ‘simple shrine’ on the streets and having a shamaness pray there is not a unilateral action. To establish this place as a shrine, it requires symbols or physical representations of the shrine, so it cannot be easily permitted. Moreover, it raises concerns about the shrine’s dignity and mystique—essentially, its ‘face.’ Hence, shrine associations or large shrines are reluctant to grant permission.

Coupled with Japan’s unique emphasis on manuals, requests may be denied due to the lack of precedent, and issues arise from attempts to micromanage until plans stall or are delayed.

Thus, the establishment of a simple shrine in Minato Ward is remarkable.

Both as a religious figure and as residents, people in Minato Ward could vaguely sense such tendencies.

Consequently, they couldn’t help but feel touched.

“They’ve been caring about us.”

In reality, witnessing a simple shrine erected so swiftly was rare, and they weren’t wrong in their sentiments.

Especially when the shrine’s purpose was to console those who experienced distress and pray to the gods to prevent such misfortunes in the future.

Naturally, the residents of Minato Ward felt deeply moved.

Thus, even as they sighed while reflecting on the scars left behind, tallying their losses in ledger books, or grappling with insurance agents over inadequate compensation—

They found hope when they looked at the praying shamaness offering prayers for them and the simple shrine set up in their honor.

Moreover, the fact that this was a ‘shrine’ they cared about was a significant aspect.

After all, shrines have a close relationship with their culture.

In the case of other religions, there’s often a sense of alienness, or an underlying goal that can’t be ignored.

While the acts of service or charity performed by individuals from other faiths are noble and respected, they don’t resonate as deeply with the residents. Ultimately, they recognize that these acts are part of a broader effort to project a good image of their faith or attract followers, which may unconsciously distance them.

But how about Shinto?

It’s their traditional religion.

It’s an integral part of their lives.

Is there any Japanese person who hasn’t visited a shrine at least once?

In essence, shrines represent their history and display another facet of Japan itself.

Thus, a simple shrine showing concern for them evokes a sense of comfort as if being embraced by an unfathomable collective—expressed as ‘Japan,’ ‘the nation,’ ‘people,’ ‘tradition.’

Receiving assistance from it affirms their status as deserving of such help, allowing them to think, “I am a necessary part of this society.”

To compare, in times of hardship, receiving help from an anonymous person brings gratitude, but assistance from a fellow member of their school, club, or workplace fosters a sense of bond along with gratitude.

That’s exactly how the residents of Minato Ward felt.

They were moved by the shrine built to console their struggles, some even managed to spare a few coins to offer donations amidst their hardships. Those who couldn’t spare anything visited the shrine, offering prayers, and some even wanted to pray together but were gently turned away by the shamaness, saying, “It’s alright. Your intentions alone please the gods. To express gratitude to the divine, it’s best to quickly return to a happy everyday life, as that is what the gods desire.”

In this way, the simple shrine wholly melted into the hearts of Minato Ward residents.

Had there been no disaster, even the establishment of a proper shrine wouldn’t have drawn their scorn; they would have ignored any advertising efforts.

To say it was a reversal of fortune for the shrine would be apt.

Or perhaps it can be expressed as a virtuous act reaping a good harvest.

Everything seemed to be turning out positively.

Everything…

‘…I wonder if they know? That this shrine is related to that cunning fox…’

* * *

The appearance of the simple shrine erected in Minato Ward was nothing extravagant.

Though made of tree trunks from the surrounding hills, it presented itself as merely a traditional wooden structure, and the three-story shrine looked even more shabby against the tall buildings and mansions surrounding it.

Without a Torii or gold thread, one might mistake it for a ryokan with shrine-like interior decor.

Perhaps its incongruity with the surrounding atmosphere only heightened that perception.

Natural landscapes maximize their effect through cohesion, yet this shrine felt oddly detached as if it were a piece plucked from afar and placed there.

However, being a simple shrine might be an inherent limitation.

So, what about the interior?

That, too, was lacking.

While they made some effort to create a shrine-like ambiance, hints of inadequacy loomed in every corner.

Since they used high-quality wood, one would expect to feel a luxurious vibe. Yet, it appeared haphazardly constructed, with misalignments creating gaps, and some wood pieces looked slightly deformed as if eaten by insects. Moreover, despite the reputation that a skilled carpenter worked on it, the structure was efficient and hurried-looking rather than complex or beautiful.

What about the structure?

While it’s somewhat similar to typical shrines, one can’t quite tell if it’s a ryokan or a shrine.

Though it’s built to house those associated with the shrine, one might argue that the structure lacks reverence. The separation of divine and human dwellings should be explicit; to have a habitation above the area for divine worship is rather inconsiderate.

Creating a dwelling on top of the divine’s space feels akin to placing humans over the gods.

Isn’t that an irreverent structure?

How about the basement?

The basement, designed solely for the shamaness dispatched to the shrine, is sealed with a massive stone, giving off an oddly messy and grim vibe, hardly suitable for a ‘shrine.’

Transitioning deeper inside, past that cumbersome stone,

there lies a prayer area.

It’s not the space for petitions to the divine on the first floor, but where the shrine gains its function.

It’s the arena for symbols tied to the gods, the objects of divine resonance, and the mediums through which divine power can manifest.

A stone altar.

Two elongated stones serve as legs, with a large flat stone balanced on top.

Reminiscent of dolmens, atop the altar rests a dark mass.

What could that even be?

An offering to the gods?

Or perhaps some special divine object?

No.

That’s not it.

That’s the divine body.

It’s the object that sustains this shrine and was once revered as a god.

It bestows divine power upon the shamaness and serves as a conduit.

Yes.

A conduit.

The shamaness of Mukuri Kokuri no Inugami, an Inari priestess, and a shamaness serving some unknown entity are connected through that object.

And this shamaness of the simple shrine serves merely as a caretaker of it.

Receiving power from the conduit, she embodies the shamaness, gathering the aspirations that people send forth.

The residents of Minato Ward’s ‘ownerless prayers’ consolidate at symbols and magical tools placed throughout the shrine, which then gain a single direction through vessels of energy and memory.

What these create is a talisman.

…Indeed.

The simple shrine in the heart of Minato Ward is a factory.

A factory for crafting talismans.

 

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