A former Soto Zen monk, Abe is a specialist in traditional Oriental medicine, licensed in Japanese adjustment, acupuncture, and chiropractic. Another eventful encounter. Another transforming shift.
When I first came to Japan in October 1987, the last thing I expected to research was the supernatural. Like so many foreigners, I had come initially for business reasons. I was an official member of a U.S. State of Arizona economic mission that had come to Asia to open a trade office in Taipei, Taiwan, and had stopped over in Japan almost as an afterthought. From the moment I arrived here, I felt Japan was special for me, a reaction common to many foreigners, who tend to instantly like or dislike this apparently westernized Asian nation. I liked Japan enough to know that I wanted to live here, if only to try to unlock the secret of this strong attraction.
Once I finally started my research into Japan’s supernatural leanings, including a personal exploration of the dimension of ki, I found many new doors opening, and all manner of connections being easily and widely made. Being of mystical bent, I am inclined to think that this was as it should be, and that I had stumbled onto what was, for me, the right path.
My first efforts began, unlikely as it may seem, at the Ministry of International Trade and Industry (MITI). There, an old friend, Matsufuji Tetsuo, then at the ministry-affiliated Agency of Industrial Science and Technology, helped me set up meetings with ministry officials concerning supernatural research conducted by MITI. If I was surprised to discover MITI’s hardheaded bureaucrats investigating the otherworldly, I soon found that at the personal level, the spiritual quest is quite sincere. Thanks to Tsunoda Yoshisue, then at Japan’s New Sunshine Program to develop alternative energy sources and uses, I was invited to join MITI’s weekly ki ko class. This in turn led to my getting to know the instructor, Nakamura Akira, a lay monk and founder of Toyo Bunka Study Group, who two years later has graced this book with his fine sumi-e illustrations.
It was at the Agency of Industrial Science and Technology that I was invited to a meeting with Uri Geller, who demonstrated his telepathic talents and of course bent a teaspoon, which I still have. I was to meet him again twice that year, and learned that Japanese companies have been using his perceived powers in seeking new business opportunities. In the fall of 1993 I met the decidedly eccentric Masaki Kazumi, who did not look at me when I entered the room, instead averting his gaze as he motioned for me to sit down. He then took his pendulum and a sheet of paper and immediately began analyzing my fuchi pattern, as he calls his divination method. Told many things about myself, I also learned the age at which I would die. Masaki released this potentially upsetting information because he said I had a chance to increase my life span by twenty-five years, provided I make some changes. Before I left his cramped laboratory, where a machine is continuously set up to catch signals from outer space, he presented me with a four-leaf clover, two books, and his “Para Memory” machine. Touted as a brain-wave-enhancer and entryway to past lives, it gave me an instant headache, and has been gathering dust ever since, its promise of insight into past lives unfulfilled.
Accompanying Nishino Kozo to his classes at his school in Shibuya, I watched displays of his ki power, which really do have to be seen to be believed. A man of tangibly vital force, despite the fact that he used to smoke 150 cigarettes a day, Nishino appeared at his interview wearing a peach suit with gold buttons, a pink belt, a white sports shirt, and Japanese wooden sandals. Well-known and respected in the world of ballet, he has established a school of breathing techniques that is extremely organized and obviously successful, although I had the feeling that his students and instructors, while developing their awareness, are definitely followers rather than future pioneers in the world of ki. But perhaps there is only room for one Nishino.
By contrast, Kurita Masahiro comes across as much quieter, although equally dedicated to helping people realize their ki potential. At one of his regular lectures in Ikebukuro, I watched Kurita use his hands to heal aches and pains among the attendees. He believes his creation of the “Super Reading System,” which greatly enhances speed reading skills, is a practical way to introduce people to the more esoteric philosophy of ki improvement. And I frequently see people doing Kurita’s finger rotation exercises on the train or subway. Abandoning the life of a Buddhist monk for the study of mathematics and then medicine, Kurita has been involved in a lifelong mystic search. On the very last day of what had been a multiyear mystical training program, he was hit by a car on a mountain road as he was returning home. During the following months spent in hospital, he clearly formulated his way to teach people about ki.
Nomura Harehiko, meanwhile, has become a valued friend who regularly shows up at my home with his latest research results. In recent years, some scientists in the West have scathingly referred to proponents of the new physics as “Neo-Buddhists,” as one discovery after another in the realm of physics brings the world of natural science ever closer to the universe of Eastern mysticism. Nomura, who happens to be a practicing Buddhist, as well as a physicist specializing in superconductivity, manages to balance fifteen-day mystical training fasts with rigorous scientific experiments. Through his efforts, and those of his open-minded associates, new and intriguing insights concerning the phenomenal and intimated worlds are continuously being observed. Such work creates a bridge between the known and the unknown.
Despite my helpful connections, I found that researching the mysterious and strange in Japan is not always an easy task. Outside of the world of mystics, for whom the mysterious is a part of daily life, most Japanese people are reluctant to discuss the supernatural, either out of superstitious caution, a desire for secrecy, or simple lack of interest. August maybe the month to remember the dead and listen to eerie tales, but ghost stories that touch one personally can seem too close for comfort.
There is a dearth of information in English concerning Japan and the supernatural, so much of my research involved working with material that first had to be translated from the original Japanese. Since I do not yet read Japanese, most of this necessary translation work was generously undertaken by Abe Yukio. It was a was a time-consuming task, and, of course, the possibility for factual errors exists. Anyone who has worked closely with the Japanese language is aware of the frustrations inherent in translation. There is so much vagueness and ambiguity that trying to extract all the facts is very difficult, especially given the subject matter. Details of ghostly hauntings of places seem to be left deliberately vague, leaving much to the reader’s imagination. While this may be the mark of a thrilling ghost story, it is not helpful for someone who wants to tell the tale in another language.
In addition, many regions in Japan have their own versions of the same story, so it was left up to me to select which details to include. Often, in the end, I decided that it was less important to know exactly when something happened than to accept that the story had become part of Japanese cultural lore, and therefore has its own significance. At the same time, it was a pleasure to learn just how much Japanese, like Scots, have always loved ghost stories. As a people, Scots are comfortable with the mystical, and psychic gifts are accepted, particularly among the communities of the northern Highlands and Islands. In Japan I did not have to stretch my imagination very far.
So many of us in the modern world are cut off from even simple, natural experiences like walking in a forest, or sitting by a mountain river. In the glass and steel edifices which protect us from the elements, we have forgotten the power of the wind, the strength of water. One of the reasons why I enjoy my present life in Japan is that I have been able to keep such experiences very near to me. I am now living in yet another old house, which has its own well and carp pond, and the vagaries of the weather, such as spectacular summer lightning storms, remind me that I walk in the shadow of Mount Takao.
This sacred mountain in Western Tokyo, with longstanding supernatural ties, has become a favorite place for ki exercising or mental refreshment. Early one morning, I was climbing the path as usual, when I heard drumming and strange chanting. In a small cave which serves as a shrine I saw three women. One was drumming and chanting, the second was leaning against the railing, and the third was kneeling inside the cave, rocking to and fro, and moaning. I watched as she emerged to dance around to the beat of the drum, like the Sun Goddess coming out
