A LIVING GOD

Kami, lit with the purest fire and fed with the purest oil.

But in my yashiro on the hill, I would have the greatest honor: there, at times, I would gather the multitude of my selves together; there, I would unify my powers to answer prayers.

From the shadows of my ghost-house, I would look for the coming of sandaled feet and watch brown, supple fingers weaving the knotted papers—which are records of vows—to my bars, and observe the motion of the lips of my worshipers making prayer: —

— “ Harai-tamai kiyomé-tamaé ! . . . We have beaten drums, we have lit fires; yet the land thirsts and the rice fails. Deign, out of your divine pity, to give us rain, O Daimyōjin ! ”

— “ Harai-tamai kiyomé-tamaé ! . . . I am dark, too dark, because I have worked in the field, because the sun has looked upon me. Deign, in your majesty, to make me white, very white—white like the women of the city, O Daimyōjin ! ”