A LIVING GOD

hands, and remember that I, the ghost and god, had been a father.

Daily I would hear the splash of pure, cool water poured out for me, and the tinkle of thrown coins, and the pattering of dry rice into my wooden box, like the pattering of rain; and I would be refreshed by the spirit of the water and strengthened by the spirit of the rice.

Festivals would be held to honor me. Priests, in black headgear and linen vestments, would bring me offerings of fruit, fish, seaweed, rice cakes, and rice wine—masking their faces with sheets of white paper so as not to breathe upon my food. And the miko, their daughters—fair girls in crimson hakama and robes of snowy white—would come to dance with the tinkling of little bells and the waving of silken fans, so that I might be gladdened by the bloom of their youth and delight in the charm of their grace. And there would be music from many thousands of years ago—strange music of drums and flutes—and songs in a language no longer spoken; while the miko, the darlings of the gods, would poise and pose before me:—