2025-03-19

Moroguchi Shrine

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Moroguchi Shrine: Home to Moroki-hime—Guardian of the Sea
諸口神社の「もろき姫」—海の安全と豊漁を祈る場所



Moroguchi-jinja (諸口神社) is an ancient Shinto shrine nestled deep among majestic Japanese matsu (pine) trees, just a short walk from the torii gate that overlooks Heda Port in the small fishing town of Numazu, located in Shizuoka Prefecture—about 150 km (93 mi) southwest of Tokyo.

The first photo features the roofed purification fountain, where visitors cleanse their hands and rinse their mouths in a ritual called temizuya before approaching the main shrine. Located at the tip of Mihama Cape facing Heda Port, Moroguchi-jinja is dedicated to the guardian deity of sailors and fishermen.

Although the shrine’s exact origins have been lost to history, it is believed to date back to Japan’s medieval period. The shrine likely takes its name from the deity Moroki-hime (もろき姫), who is enshrined here. Supporting this theory, historical records compiled in 927 reference even older texts from the Middle Ages that mention a shrine in the Izu Province dedicated to Moroki-hime.

In 1879, the Meiji Government officially recognized Moroguchi-jinja as a village shrine during a nationwide effort to catalog and designate Shinto shrines.

The current structure was rebuilt in 1953. Most recently, on April 4th, local ship owners, members of the fishing cooperative, and their families gathered here for a small festival to pray for safe voyages and bountiful harvests at sea.

The scent of pine needles, damp earth, and salty sea breeze filled the shrine grounds, carried on strong coastal winds that rustled through the trees. Just beyond the surrounding woodlands, the rhythmic crash of waves along the nearby shoreline echoed softly through the stillness.

For the local sailors and their families, I imagine this shrine holds a far deeper meaning than it does for a visitor like myself. The sea is not only their livelihood—it is also a source of uncertainty and danger. Here, beneath the ancient pines and the care of Moroki-hime, they come to seek protection, give thanks, and show reverence to the forces of the sea.

  • Timestamp: 2025/03/19・6:29
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 73 mm ISO 100 for 2.5 sec. at ƒ/11

  • Timestamp: 2025/03/19・6:39
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 28 mm ISO 100 for 2.0 sec. at ƒ/9

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© 2011-2025 Pix4Japan. All rights reserved.
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Cape Mihama Torii

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A Quiet Moment at Cape Mihama: Torii by the Sea
神域への朱き門:諸口神社の鳥居


Tucked away on the edge of Cape Mihama, just where the trees meet the sea, stands a vivid vermilion torii gate that immediately catches your eye. It's perched at the very edge of a narrow sandy beach, gazing out over the calm, turquoise waters of Heda Port. There's something serene yet powerful about its presence—like it is standing guard over both land and sea.

This gate marks the entrance to Moroguchi Shrine, which lies hidden deeper in the quiet forest just beyond. Like most torii, it serves as a symbolic threshold—crossing it means leaving behind the everyday world and stepping into a sacred space.

What I find especially interesting is the specific design of this torii. It’s known as a myōjin torii (明神鳥居), a style that’s been around since the 9th century. You can recognize it by the way the top lintels curve gracefully upward at the ends—it gives the whole structure a kind of buoyant elegance. Unlike the simpler shinmei torii (神明鳥居) style, this one also has a secondary lintel beneath the main one, and a central support strut hidden behind a framed plaque that bears the shrine’s name.

Traditionally, these gates were made of wood, but nowadays it’s common to see concrete versions like this one, built to last longer, especially in coastal environments where the elements can be tough. The vibrant vermilion paint isn’t just for show either—it’s believed to ward off evil spirits. On a more practical level, it’s made from cinnabar (mercuric sulfide), which has natural preservative qualities that protect the gate from insects and decay. A perfect blend of spirituality and science.

Standing here, with the sea breeze on my face and the sound of the water lapping gently at the shore, it felt like time slowed down. There’s something really special about this quiet meeting point between land, water, and spirit.

  • Location: Numazu, Shizuoka, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/03/19・6:27
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 28 mm ISO 2500 for 1/250 sec. at ƒ/5.0

  • Location: Numazu, Shizuoka, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/03/19・6:34
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 28 mm ISO 1600 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/6.3

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© 2011-2025 Pix4Japan. All rights reserved.
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Waning Gibbous

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Cape Mihama at Dawn: A Windy Morning Under a Fading Moon
下弦の月に照らされる御浜岬と駿河湾の夜明け


Looking southwest across Suruga Bay at dawn, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a waning gibbous moon rising over the wind-strewn, choppy waves off the western coast of the Izu Peninsula, approximately 150 km (93 mi) southwest of Tokyo. The sky was painted in delicate hues, and the moon, though faint, added a quiet, lunar presence to the restless seascape.

Capturing this image was no easy feat. The dim pre-dawn light demanded a slower shutter speed, yet the relentless wind—howling through the early morning silence—battered me and my tripod. Each adjustment required patience, as I fought against nature’s elements to steady the shot.

Despite the challenge, I found raw beauty in the moment—a reminder of how nature rarely waits for perfect conditions. Still, I can’t help but hope of returning here on a calmer morning, watching the moon sink closer to the horizon, undisturbed by the wind, and capturing the tranquility I could only imagine on this particular morning.

  • Location: Numazu, Shizuoka, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/03/19・6:18
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 40 mm ISO 320 for 1/250 sec. at ƒ/8

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Heda Lighthouse

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Border Collie & Heda Lighthouse
ボーダーコリーと戸田灯台

We arrived at Heda Lighthouse on the western coast of the Izu Peninsula, facing the deep, dark waters of Suruga Bay. Just a three-hour drive southwest of Tokyo (approximately 145 km/90 mi via expressways), we pulled into the nearby parking lot at 5:30 a.m., greeted by the crisp morning air and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore.

The lighthouse, originally built in 1952 and renovated in 1984, received an upgrade in 2012, increasing its luminosity to reach as far as 12.5 nautical miles. Standing against the coastal winds, it continues to guide vessels navigating these waters.

Capturing a shot in these conditions was no easy task. The early morning darkness, combined with fierce gusts, threatened to topple my tripod and camera off the seawall. Despite the challenge, I managed to frame two special moments—one showcasing the lighthouse standing resilient against the wind, and another of my dog sitting patiently at its base, seemingly unfazed by the elements.

On a clear day, Mt. Fuji rises majestically behind the lighthouse, creating a breathtaking backdrop. Though luck wasn’t on my side this time, I hope to return again—perhaps at sunrise—when the first golden light kisses the iconic peak of Japan’s most famous landmark.

  • Location: Numazu, Shizuoka, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/03/19・6:13
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 28 mm ISO 1250 for 1/250 sec. at ƒ/10

  • Location: Numazu, Shizuoka, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/03/19・6:11
  • Pentax K-1 II + DFA 28-105mm F3.5-5.6 + CP
  • 105 mm ISO 800 for 1/250 sec. at ƒ/5.6

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2025-03-09

Ryuge-ji Temple

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The Green Patina of Time: Ryūge-ji Temple’s Roof・龍華寺の銅板葺屋根:時が刻む緑青の美

The main hall at Ryūge-ji Temple in Kanazawa Ward, Yokohama, Japan, is a historic site founded in 1189 in the Mutsuura mountains. After the original structure burned in 1499, it merged with two neighboring temples, forming the present-day complex. This tranquil Buddhist sanctuary has endured for over 830 years, blending spiritual heritage with the surrounding urban landscape.

One of the most striking features is the kawara-yane (瓦屋根), a traditional curved roof made of fired clay tiles. Introduced to Japan from Korea in the 6th century alongside Buddhism, this roofing style was originally reserved for temples and government buildings. By the 14th century, it had expanded to include shrines, imperial palaces, and feudal castles.

During the Edo Period (1603–1868), kawara-yane became even more widespread, especially in Edo (modern-day Tokyo). Its fire resistance made it a preferred choice over thatch or cypress bark, which were highly flammable and required replacement every 20–30 years, while clay tiles lasted around 75 years.

Ryūge-ji Temple’s roof, however, has been refurbished with copper sheeting (銅板葺, dōbanbuki), which maintains the original curved shape of tiled roofing. Over time, the copper developed a greenish patina due to oxidation and weathering. Given the light green color of Ryūge-ji’s roof, I estimate that the current copper sheeting was installed at least 25 years ago.

Though Ryūge-ji Temple is not a well-known landmark, its history and quiet beauty left a lasting impression on me. Nestled in a local neighborhood, it stands as a reminder that Japan’s cultural heritage isn’t confined to famous sites—it’s woven into everyday places, waiting to be noticed.

Stumbling upon this centuries-old temple during a business trip felt like uncovering a hidden treasure. The aged copper roof, the sculpted trees, the tall stone lanterns—each detail told a story of endurance and tradition. In a fast-paced world, moments like these remind me to pause, observe, and appreciate the quiet legacies that surround us.

  • Location: Kanazawa Ward, Yokohama, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/09 17:26
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/400 sec. at ƒ/2.5
  • Classic Negative film simulation

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Bell Tower

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Echoes of Renewal: Temple Bells and Tradition
龍華寺の鐘楼:歴史ある建築と除夜の鐘


The traditional Japanese bell tower with a thatched roof that stands in the courtyard of Ryuge-ji Temple in Yokohama, Japan, has been designated as an Important Cultural Property by Kanagawa Prefecture.

The open wooden structure, supported by stout corner pillars, houses a large hanging bell, which is struck by a wooden pole. A monk pulls the pole back and drives it toward the bell with his full strength and weight. This particular design of the tower dates back to the 13th century. The thatched roof, once common, is now a rarity, with clay tiles being more prevalent today.

Although bell towers like this are most commonly found at Buddhist temples, they can sometimes be seen at larger Shinto shrines as well.

The bell in the tower is most often rung on New Year’s Eve during the festivities of ōmisoka (大晦日; lit. "great thirtieth day" of the of the Japanese lunisolar calendar). In the final moments of December 31, temple bells ring out across Japan to mark the transition from one year to the next.

At each temple, the bell is struck 108 times in a Buddhist ritual called joya-no-kane (除夜の鐘; lit. “New Year's Eve Bell"), symbolizing the cleansing of the 108 worldly passions. The final ring comes just after midnight, carrying the hope that those who hear it will enter the new year free from their burdens.

Each New Year’s Eve, Japan’s national broadcaster, NHK, airs live footage from a famous temple where monks perform this ritual. At smaller, more intimate temples, visitors are often allowed to take part in ringing the bell themselves.

At my local temple, which is also home to our family cemetery, we gather each year with relatives and neighbors to welcome the new year. The monk’s wife always prepares a large pot of warm amazake—a traditional sweet, milky sake—heated over an open fire, offering both comfort and warmth on the frigid night.

Our monk places 108 stones in a small bag, and before midnight, we take turns ringing the bell and removing a stone until only one remains. Just after midnight, the monk rings the final, 108th bell and offers a prayer for all who have gathered.

The slow, steady, rhythmic chimes mark the transition from the old year to the new, symbolizing the release of worldly desires—those emotions and attachments that lead to suffering and hinder spiritual growth. For me, simply listening to the bell brings clarity, mindfulness, and a sense of renewal, especially at our quiet, rural temple, nestled behind the hills and overlooking rice paddies, far from the distractions of city lights and noise.

  • Location: Kanazawa Ward, Yokohama, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/09 17:12
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/3.2
  • Classic Negative film simulation
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Fudōmyō-Ō

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A Small Vermilion Shrine for Fudōmyō-Ō, the Immovable Wisdom King 
華寺境内の朱色が美しい不動明王堂


A small vermilion shrine housing a statue of the Buddhist deity Fudōmyō-Ō, or the “Immovable Wisdom King.”

Although located within the grounds of Ryuge-ji, a Buddhist temple, the shrine’s architecture closely resembles that of a traditional Shinto hokora. It’s a quiet example of how Japan’s two spiritual traditions — Buddhism, introduced from China, and indigenous Shinto — once blended naturally in daily life.

This fusion is known as shinbutsu-shūgō (神仏習合), the harmonious coexistence of kami and Buddhas that flourished for centuries. While the Meiji government’s separation order in 1868 sought to divide the two, the effort was not entirely successful. Even today, small moments like this remind us of the enduring ties between them.

  • Location: Kanazawa Ward, Yokohama, Japan
  • Timestamp: 2025/01/09 17:12
  • Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter
  • ISO 320 for 1/480 sec. at ƒ/2.5
  • Classic Negative film simulation

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Copyright Notice for All Images:
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Unauthorized use for AI training is strictly prohibited.
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