Oof. I hit the ground hard, disturbing the dust in a cloud around me as the portal drops me from three feet in the air. I look around and I’m alone on a dirt road. The river next to the portal in the spirit realm is several hundred meters from where I’m standing now and the hills forming its valley look very similar. Instinctively, my hand shoots up in front of my face so I can look at my arm - still translucent. I sigh, then start walking. While I have no idea where I would go if I’m successful with this mystery quest, that bean-shaped spirit sure made it sound like an unpleasant option if I were to forever be marooned in that in-between world. I head north-east towards Murodo.

I try to keep to the path as best I can, it’s overgrown in places and washed away by rock slides from the hilltops in others. It’s tough going. I walk all day with no hunger or thirst distracting my efforts; I find it strange, but then, I’m having these moments all the time as I rediscover myself in this new form. Early on in my trek I needed to climb over a boulder that had blocked the river path - I’m lithe enough that this was no big deal, except I caught my foot in a crevice on the top side of the rock as I clambered down, falling rather ungracefully over my shoulder and smashing my face into rubble littered across the path. I shuddered painfully and gripped my face with my trembling hands, but surprised myself again when I drew them back to look at them and saw no blood. The pain only lasted a moment, then rushed away like an echo into the distance. I can still feel pain albeit fleetingly, I don’t bleed, I don’t need to eat or drink (I think), but I am exhausted. I decide to stop at a ryokan in nearby Okabe to rest.

Okabe is larger than Gokayama by several times, so I find lodging easily at a clean ryokan called Kominka No Yado - inn in an old folks’ home - fitting as I’m probably not the first spirit to have graced this abode. I open the heavy wooden gate and enter the ryokan. A woman stands behind a table at the end of the reception room, practicing ikebana, flower arranging, with a delicate-looking orchid that she balances skillfully between three smooth stones and some dried moss. She doesn’t hear me come in. 

“Excuse me,” I say, quietly, since I’m not sure how my appearance will be received by someone else and I don’t want to startle her, “I’d like a room for the night please.” When she doesn’t respond, I have another new-to-spirithood moment and remember the spirit bean’s words about humans not being able to see me unless I touch them. I guess the same is true for speech - I choose not to make this ryokan proprietor my first human-spirit connection and instead head down the hallway in search of an empty room. While the ryokan is large, it seems relatively uninhabited this evening and I slip into the second room I see. The futon is already made up on the tatami mat and I fall into it, sleep washing over me immediately. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Ahhhhh!” The shriek startled me awake. “What are you doing in my bed?!” As my vision comes into focus, I see a woman in a green kimono with glasses and hair tied back in an indigo ponytail - visibly stressed by my presence. I guess she must have touched me or something trying to get into bed - although I thought I needed to touch someone for them to see me. I guess I’m still learning.

“I - I’m sorry,” I stutter. “My name is --------. I’m… a spirit. I thought this room was empty.” 

“A spirit?” She asked. “I’ve never met a spirit, although my Sobo used to tell me stories about the spirits who wandered the spirit realm. I guess I just thought those were cautionary tales to get children to behave so they wouldn’t be visited by one of the spirits.” She paused. “Stop distracting me! What are you doing here?”

I put my hands out, palms open in a show of peace. I could feel a calming energy pulse through my arms and outwards towards her. I could sense her elevated heartbeat slowing, must be one of the powers us spirits get. 

“My name is Amani and I live on Mt. Tateyama,” she said.

I look out the window and can see from the softly warming darkness outside that it’s nearly dawn. Why is this woman returning to her room at such a late hour? I ask. “Amani, why have you been out so late? There are yakuza in town and this region is known for bandits along the mountain paths.” 

Amani looks surprised at my question and although it’s only an instant reflected in her subtle eye movements, I can sense the discomfort in her energy - another heightened sense. “I was helping someone,” she said. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m looking for a man who lives in Murodo. Do you know who that might be?” She looks pensive, and doesn’t move for some time.

“I’ll take you,” she said, “it’s near my home. But first, I need to sleep. Can you leave me for a few hours? I don’t need long, just until daylight.” I nod and exit the room. I lower myself down to the floor just outside, my back rested against the wall in the hallway. Something tells me I should stay close. While I wait, I meditate - a long-standing practice that has always helped with my mental clarity when faced with a challenge.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I open my eyes as Amani taps me on the shoulder. I guess I dozed off during my meditation. “Come on,” she says and walks towards the exit. I follow.

We walk for five or so miles with a steady uphill gradient towards Mt. Tateyama and Murodo. The landscape changes as we climb and I can see the birch trees and mulberry bushes thin out with the altitude, revealing a serene carpet of white cottongrass creeping over the ridge. Amani stops. Then I see the movement from the rocky gap in the cliffs on our right. 

She walks slowly at an almost imperceptible gait that looks more like gliding across the ethereal white groundcover. Striking silver hair drapes over the collar of her pink kimono - I see a flash of fire in her eyes, then feel a searing pain course through the veins in my face, bleeding into my brain. Amani screams somewhere nearby. I’m drawn to memories of my childhood, watching my father sail on his fishing boat from the dock on Sho River in Mukurajima, the last time I ever saw him. The memories come flooding in, so many and so strong I can no longer follow them. My vision goes blurry, I stumble to the ground, blindly reaching for Amani - I don’t even know if she’s still there. Then everything goes dark.

Oof. I hit the ground hard, disturbing the dust in a cloud around me as the portal drops me from three feet in the air. I look around and I’m alone on a dirt road. The river next to the portal in the spirit realm is several hundred meters from where I’m standing now and the hills forming its valley look very similar. Instinctively, my hand shoots up in front of my face so I can look at my arm - still translucent. I sigh, then start walking. While I have no idea where I would go if I’m successful with this mystery quest, that bean-shaped spirit sure made it sound like an unpleasant option if I were to forever be marooned in that in-between world. I head north-east towards Murodo.

I try to keep to the path as best I can, it’s overgrown in places and washed away by rock slides from the hilltops in others. It’s tough going. I walk all day with no hunger or thirst distracting my efforts; I find it strange, but then, I’m having these moments all the time as I rediscover myself in this new form. Early on in my trek I needed to climb over a boulder that had blocked the river path - I’m lithe enough that this was no big deal, except I caught my foot in a crevice on the top side of the rock as I clambered down, falling rather ungracefully over my shoulder and smashing my face into rubble littered across the path. I shuddered painfully and gripped my face with my trembling hands, but surprised myself again when I drew them back to look at them and saw no blood. The pain only lasted a moment, then rushed away like an echo into the distance. I can still feel pain albeit fleetingly, I don’t bleed, I don’t need to eat or drink (I think), but I am exhausted. I decide to stop at a ryokan in nearby Okabe to rest.

Okabe is larger than Gokayama by several times, so I find lodging easily at a clean ryokan called Kominka No Yado - inn in an old folks’ home - fitting as I’m probably not the first spirit to have graced this abode. I open the heavy wooden gate and enter the ryokan. A woman stands behind a table at the end of the reception room, practicing ikebana, flower arranging, with a delicate-looking orchid that she balances skillfully between three smooth stones and some dried moss. She doesn’t hear me come in. 

“Excuse me,” I say, quietly, since I’m not sure how my appearance will be received by someone else and I don’t want to startle her, “I’d like a room for the night please.” When she doesn’t respond, I have another new-to-spirithood moment and remember the spirit bean’s words about humans not being able to see me unless I touch them. I guess the same is true for speech - I choose not to make this ryokan proprietor my first human-spirit connection and instead head down the hallway in search of an empty room. While the ryokan is large, it seems relatively uninhabited this evening and I slip into the second room I see. The futon is already made up on the tatami mat and I fall into it, sleep washing over me immediately. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Ahhhhh!” The shriek startled me awake. “What are you doing in my bed?!” As my vision comes into focus, I see a woman in a green kimono with glasses and hair tied back in an indigo ponytail - visibly stressed by my presence. I guess she must have touched me or something trying to get into bed - although I thought I needed to touch someone for them to see me. I guess I’m still learning.

“I - I’m sorry,” I stutter. “My name is --------. I’m… a spirit. I thought this room was empty.” 

“A spirit?” She asked. “I’ve never met a spirit, although my Sobo used to tell me stories about the spirits who wandered the spirit realm. I guess I just thought those were cautionary tales to get children to behave so they wouldn’t be visited by one of the spirits.” She paused. “Stop distracting me! What are you doing here?”

I put my hands out, palms open in a show of peace. I could feel a calming energy pulse through my arms and outwards towards her. I could sense her elevated heartbeat slowing, must be one of the powers us spirits get. 

“My name is Amani and I live on Mt. Tateyama,” she said.

I look out the window and can see from the softly warming darkness outside that it’s nearly dawn. Why is this woman returning to her room at such a late hour? I ask. “Amani, why have you been out so late? There are yakuza in town and this region is known for bandits along the mountain paths.” 

Amani looks surprised at my question and although it’s only an instant reflected in her subtle eye movements, I can sense the discomfort in her energy - another heightened sense. “I was helping someone,” she said. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m looking for a man who lives in Murodo. Do you know who that might be?” She looks pensive, and doesn’t move for some time.

“I’ll take you,” she said, “it’s near my home. But first, I need to sleep. Can you leave me for a few hours? I don’t need long, just until daylight.” I nod and exit the room. I lower myself down to the floor just outside, my back rested against the wall in the hallway. Something tells me I should stay close. While I wait, I meditate - a long-standing practice that has always helped with my mental clarity when faced with a challenge.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I open my eyes as Amani taps me on the shoulder. I guess I dozed off during my meditation. “Come on,” she says and walks towards the exit. I follow.

We walk for five or so miles with a steady uphill gradient towards Mt. Tateyama and Murodo. The landscape changes as we climb and I can see the birch trees and mulberry bushes thin out with the altitude, revealing a serene carpet of white cottongrass creeping over the ridge. Amani stops. Then I see the movement from the rocky gap in the cliffs on our right. 

She walks slowly at an almost imperceptible gait that looks more like gliding across the ethereal white groundcover. Striking silver hair drapes over the collar of her pink kimono - I see a flash of fire in her eyes, then feel a searing pain course through the veins in my face, bleeding into my brain. Amani screams somewhere nearby. I’m drawn to memories of my childhood, watching my father sail on his fishing boat from the dock on Sho River in Mukurajima, the last time I ever saw him. The memories come flooding in, so many and so strong I can no longer follow them. My vision goes blurry, I stumble to the ground, blindly reaching for Amani - I don’t even know if she’s still there. Then everything goes dark.