The Weather-Beaten Jizō: Shikoku Pilgrimage Haiku by Shūji NiwanoFirst published in Modern Haiku 47:3, Fall
2016, pages 105 to 121. Poems originally translated by Michael Dylan Welch and
Emiko Miyashita in July and August of 2009 for the 2009 Haiku North America
conference at the National Library of Canada in Ottawa, Ontario for a presentation by Robert Sibley. Introduction
and commentary originally written from 2013 to 2016. In Modern Haiku, the commentary on selected poems appeared after
all the translations, but here the comments for particular poems have been integrated
to appear immediately after each poem, with occasional revisions to the text since its original publication. Thank you to Paul Miller and Emiko
Miyashita for their help in refining the introduction and commentary. I also have a PowerPoint presentation featuring these poems and commentary, with additional maps and photographs. Gratitude to Ikuko Niwano (庭野 生子) for permission to publish and translate her husband’s poems. Thank
you to the University of Virginia Press for permission to reproduce the Shikoku
pilgrimage map, originally published in 2013 in Robert Sibley’s The Way of the 88 Temples. Thanks also to Robert Sibley for his kind assistance,
and for his memories and glosses that amplify the following notes, and to Guy
Simser and Terry Ann Carter for the original connection to Sibley, and thus to Shūji
Niwano and these poems. For more information about the Shikoku
pilgrimage, please see the Wikipedia page, the Walk Japan page, and especially the Route 88 Temple Trail page (click parts of the map to see close-up maps and transportation guidance, plus detailed descriptions of each temple).
Also note that the fourth episode in NHK’s “Haiku Masters” television program features
Taisan-ji (太山寺), temple 52 on the Shikoku
pilgrimage, and shows many pilgrims dressed in white performing pilgrimage
rituals. This program also observes that the Shikoku pilgrimage is
similar in length to Bashō’s Oku no Hosomichi trip to the northern interior of Japan, as is
the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage in Spain (which Robert
Sibley has also written about), observing that this distance is seemingly ideal for achieving enlightenment without being so long as to be impossible for people to endure. In addition, for more details on the poetry of Kūkai, or Kōbō Daishi, see Ronald S. Green’s “The Mysterious Mirror of Writing: Kūkai’s Poetry and Literary Theory,” and “Santōka’s Shikoku,” also by Ronald S. Green. + + + + +
Introduction
Shikoku is the fourth largest of Japan’s main islands, and for centuries it has
been famous for a pilgrimage to eighty-eight temples around its circumference—Japan’s
oldest pilgrimage. These temples are known as the Shikoku Hachijūhakkasho (四国八十八箇所), eight of which are located in
Matsuyama, birthplace of the haiku master Shiki. The Shikoku pilgrimage, known
as the Shikoku Henro (四国遍路) or the Shikoku Junrei (四国巡礼), or more commonly as Henro Michi (遍路道, or “pilgrim
road”), is a trip of about 750 miles and takes up to two months to complete on
foot, traditionally clockwise around the island. The temples along the route
are all associated with Kūkai (空海), a Japanese monk who was born in 774 at
Zentsū-ji (temple 75). After he died in 835, Kūkai became known as Kōbō Daishi
(弘法大師 or “The Grand Master Who
Propagated the Buddhist Teaching”), and each pilgrim on the Shikoku pilgrimage
is said to walk with the monk’s spirit at every step. Kōbō Daishi founded the
Shingon (“True Word”) school of Buddhism, and he has been credited with
inventing kana, the syllabary system
that, with Chinese kanji, still makes
up Japan’s written language today.
Millions of people, nearly all
Japanese, have attempted the Shikoku pilgrimage, or henro (遍路)—an estimated 150,000 each year
in recent years. One of the rare foreigners who has completed the trip is
Robert C. Sibley, a Canadian journalist and writer for the Ottawa Citizen newspaper. Sibley wrote about his pilgrimage in a
series of eleven articles in 2005 (in 2006 the series won the Templeton Religion Story
of the Year award from the Religion Newswriters Association of America). He later
revised and collected his reports in the book The Way of the 88 Temples: Journeys on the Shikoku Pilgrimage
(Charlottesville, Virginia: University of Virginia Press, 2013). In 2009, when
the Haiku North America conference took place at the National Library of Canada
in Ottawa, Sibley was one of the keynote speakers, not just because his travels
described Japan and its culture, but because one of the pilgrims Sibley met
along the way was Shūji Niwano (庭野 修治), a retired
telecommunications salesman who also wrote haiku. For his HNA presentation,
Sibley asked me and Emiko Miyashita to translate thirty-three haiku written by
Niwano, many of which he shared at HNA as part of his multimedia presentation, along
with photographs from his trip (you can see selected photos, including one of
Sibley with Niwano, at Sibley’s website). Seven of our
translations (poems 1, 3, 5, 24, 30, 31, and 32) also appear in Sibley’s book
as epigraphs to start each of the book’s seven chapters. What makes these poems
particularly compelling is not just that they record everyday aspects of the
pilgrimage itself, such as the silence of walking in the rain, or of passing
and being passed by others, but that Shūji Niwano may well have taken the
pilgrimage, accompanied by his troubled son Jun, as a deliberate last
accomplishment in his life. As Sibley explains near the end of his book, “In
Buddhist tradition, a pilgrimage can be an act of expiation before death, an
attempt to cleanse yourself in the hope of being reborn without all the bad
karma of previous lives.” Furthermore, in The
Japanese Mind, edited by Roger J. Davies and Osamu Ikeno (Tokyo: Tuttle,
2002), the chapter on Japanese funerals says that “there is the belief among
Buddhists that people go on a kind of pilgrimage after death” (205), so perhaps
Niwano wished to get a head start on his afterlife pilgrimage.
Pilgrims to the
Shikoku temples traditionally wear a wide-brimmed conical bamboo hat and white shirt
or robe. In Japan, white symbolizes death, and it becomes evident in Sibley’s
book that Shūji Niwano takes the pilgrimage in anticipation of his own death.
That makes all of these poems jisei (辞世), or death haiku. Indeed, the
sad story is that Niwano and his son Jun both died in December of 2004, shortly
after the pilgrimage. Sibley’s book provides details. Just a few weeks before,
Niwano had sent Sibley a package containing thirty-three haiku from the
pilgrimage, written from March 30 to May 11, 2004, with a letter that said “we
finished the pilgrimage at last, thanks to the encouragement of the bush
warblers, the stone Jizō statues, and the kindness of our companions.” Among these
haiku is a poem (number 32) that Shūji’s wife Ikuko had engraved on the
gravestone for her husband and their son. This poem, along with several others
in the sequence, refers to Jizō, which are statues said to be guardians of troubled
souls, especially children, commonly dressed up with red bibs at Japanese
temples. In his first chapter, Sibley
quotes Ian Reader, a British scholar of Japanese religion, as saying that the
Shikoku pilgrimage reaffirms each pilgrim’s “social and cultural identity” and
is “a way of consolidating the religious outlooks that underpin their
existence.” The island of Shikoku has four provinces, and the journey through
these provinces symbolizes a path to enlightenment. Temples one to twenty-three
represent the idea of awakening (発心 hosshin), twenty-four to thirty-nine represent
austerity and discipline (修行 shugyō), forty to sixty-five represent
attaining enlightenment (菩提 bodai), and sixty-six to eighty-eight represent
entering nirvana (涅槃 nehan). While some pilgrims take the
Shikoku trail as tourists, most participants do so for seemingly spiritual or
ascetic reasons. While little more is known of Shūji Niwano other than the
details Sibley relates in his book, we hope that the following poems capture
something of the pilgrimage that Niwano accomplished, tinged with the sadness
of their author’s tragic demise.
Shūji Niwano’s Shikoku Pilgrimage Haiku Translated by Michael Dylan Welch and Emiko Miyashita
1.
山桜山ほんのりと赤らめり
yamazakura yama honnorito akarameri
mountain cherry blossoms
the mountain becomes
faintly red
This poem is dated March 30, 2004. Poem 33 is dated May 11. The season of
spring flavors Shūji Niwano’s Shikoku pilgrimage haiku. Spring is the best
season for taking the Shikoku pilgrimage, because it is when the weather is
neither too hot nor too cold. Because the pilgrimage is taken most often in
spring, the word for pilgrimage, henro
(遍路), is considered a spring season word in haiku. Robert Sibley
remembers: “It was blossoms, blossoms, blossoms all the way as our walking seemed
to coincide with the cherry trees coming into bloom as we followed the mountain
paths.”
2.
米寿なる遍路婆らの賑やかに
beiju naru henrobāra no nigiyaka ni
eighty-eight-year-old women
on a pilgrimage
such cheerfulness
It used to be significant and rare for either
men or women to reach this age in Japan. The age of eighty-eight is called beiju (米寿), incorporating “rice”
and “age” in two characters. The first character combines 八 (eight), 十 (ten), and 八 (eight), which produces 米 (rice). In cerebration of such longevity, Japan continues
to have a custom of giving an eighty-eight-year-old person something in a golden-brown
color, such as clothes or a cushion, and families celebrate by eating a festive
dinner together. In addition, the number in this poem brings to mind the eighty-eight
temples on the Shikoku pilgrimage. Sibley notes: “I remember encountering two
elderly women in the early days of our walk. They were slow and we easily sped
past them. But every time we stopped to rest our aching feet, lo and behold,
they soon appeared, chatting cheerfully to each other as they trudged along
like white-gowned Energizer bunnies. Made us look like pilgrim wimps.”
3.
お大師に早くも逢ひし遍路かな
odaishi ni hayakumo aishi henro kana
meeting Odaishi
so soon
on this pilgrimage
This poem most likely refers to Odaishi-sama (お大師様), an honorific name for the revered Japanese monk Kūkai, later
known as Kōbō Daishi, whose spirit is said to accompany each pilgrim. There may
be another interpretation of this poem, however. The first line might also be
understood more generally to mean “a holy person.” Shikoku pilgrims can be seen
as holy people because Kōbō Daishi is walking with them. Given that Robert
Sibley was Shūji’s main companion (aside from Jun), readers might wonder if Shūji
is referring to Sibley. Sibley notes: “Shūji several times referred to me as Kōbō
Daishi. Of course, he meant this in the sense that Kōbō Daishi is the spiritual
companion of all pilgrims.”
4.
うつむきし野地蔵をゆく遍路かな
utsumukishi nojizō wo yuku henro kana
passing a Jizō
with cast-down eyes
spring pilgrimage
5.
野地蔵の苔を纏ひて遍路道
nojizō no koke wo matoite henromichi
a moss-worn Jizō
in a field—
pilgrim’s road
Sibley notes: “Jizō statues are everywhere in rural Japan—at roadside shrines,
temples, the edge of farm fields, along mountain trails. These last two haiku,
4 and 5, tell me that Shūji, like me, adopted the Jizō as guardian spirit. Or,
maybe it was the other way around: the Jizō adopted us.”
6.
お遍路の白き一団焼山寺
ohenro no shiroki ichidan shōzanji
a troop of pilgrims
dressed in white
Shōzan-ji Temple
Pilgrims typically wear a white shirt known as oizuru (白衣). Sibley remembers: “One of the
most common sights that always surprised me was seeing white-robed Japanese
pilgrims lined up in orderly fashion at the temples. Seen from a distance, and
with a bit of poetic imagining, they reminded me of a row of toadstools in
their sedge pilgrim hats. I suspect Shūji saw them similarly.” The temple
referred to in this poem, Shōzan-ji, the Temple of the Burning Mountain, is temple
12, located in Kamiyama, Tokushima. In a traditional legend, a fiery dragon of
this mountain was once causing great damage to life and property in the area. Kōbō
Daishi ascended the mountain while flames threatened to engulf him, but he
extinguished them by forming the mudra
(hand gesture) of turning the wheel of the dharma. He sealed the dragon in a
cave, carving two images to guard it. This temple is located up a steep path at
an elevation of 2,640 feet (800 meters) above sea level, the second-highest
elevation of all temples on the Shikoku pilgrimage—a path so daunting that many
pilgrimages end here.
7.
黙黙と歩き遍路や雨の中
mokumoku to aruki henro ya ame no naka
silently
the pilgrims walk—
rainfall
Sibley recalls: “There were days on the trail when it did nothing but rain.
Reading this poem I can readily visualize the three of us, Shūji, Jun, and me,
trudging single-file along the edge of some highway or path, soaked to the
skin. Clearly, Shūji was paying attention even then, as Zen teaches.”
8.
うぐひすの教えてくれし雨上がり
uguisu no oshiete kureshi ameagari
a bush warbler
tells me that the rain
has stopped
“Bush warbler” (uguisu) is a spring
season word, and also appears in poems 22 and 26. Shūji Niwano said that he was
able to finish the pilgrimage thanks to the encouragement of the bush warblers.
Sibley adds: “One of the most haunting and plaintive sounds in the forests of
Shikoku was that of bush warblers. As Shūji’s haiku suggests, they seemed to
burst into song as soon as it stopped raining. It was a lovely wake-up call to
hear.” [Listen to the uguisu song.]
9.
甘茶飲む道連れのゐて津照寺
amacha nomu michizure no ite shinshōji
drinking sweet hydrangea tea
with my traveling companion
Shinshō-ji Temple
At Shinshō-ji, temple 25, a central decorative motif is the ship’s wheel, held
by many of the Jizō statues in this area. Legends say that a local lord was saved
from a shipwreck when a Jizō took the ship’s helm. In a different vein, Sibley
notes the following: “The companion Shūji refers to has to be Harumi Nakatsuji,
a nurse from Osaka, who we met at this temple. She walked with us for several
days and was very helpful to Shūji in dealing with his son, Jun.”
Shinshō-ji, temple 25, showing the ship’s wheel decoration above the archway.
10.
遍路宿皿鉢料理を振舞はれ
henroyado sawachi ryōri wo furumaware
pilgrim’s inn—
our treat
of sawachi dishes
Sawachi dishes are a special treat served in Tosa, in the southwest part of
Shikoku Island, in Kōchi prefecture, where a huge dish is arranged with many
kinds of seafood—sashimi, grilled fish, sushi, and shells. Usually three or
four people share a single large dish in a communal fashion, so this poem suggests
much camaraderie.
11.
阿波の桜土佐の桜と愛でにけり
awa no sakura tosa no sakura to medeni keri
first in Awa
and then in Tosa . . .
admiring cherry blossoms
Awa, near the start of the Shikoku pilgrimage, is some distance north of Tosa,
so one would expect the cherry blossoms to appear further south first, rather
than here to the north, as described in this poem. However, Awa is closer to
the inland sea, Setonaikai, where the weather is milder. Along the Pacific
coast, at Tosa, the blossoms come later because of the harsher climate. Note
that “Shikoku” literally means “four provinces,” which in ancient times were
known as Awa, Tosa, Iyo, and Sanuki, but were reorganized during the Meiji
period into the prefectures of Tokushima, Kōchi, Ehime, and Kagawa, as they are
known today.
12.
徒なれば抜きつ抜かれつ遍路道
kachi nareba nukitsu nukaretsu henromichi
on foot
we pass and get passed—
pilgrim’s path
13.
穏やかな青年二人遍路宿
odayakana seinen futari henroyado
two young men
at peace
at the pilgrim’s inn
14.
雲水の姿の佳かり遍路笠
unsui no sugata no yokari henrogasa
itinerant monks
in fine style—
bamboo pilgrim hats
Sibley notes: “At one point our pilgrim family acquired two Buddhist monks-in-training,
and this poem may refer to them. They walked with us for a couple of days.” Henro pilgrims traditionally wear
conical hats known as henrogasa (遍路笠), which resemble Mt. Fuji in
appearance—Japan’s most sacred mountain. These hats are sometimes called ajirogasa (網代笠) if made from bamboo, sugegasa
(すげ笠) if made from sedge, and warabooshi (藁帽子) if made from straw. Featured on these hats is the Sanskrit for Kōbō
Daishi, whose name is worn at the front of the hat in honor of the Buddhist
saint. Also included is the phrase Dōgyō
ninin (同行二人), which means “We two pilgrims together,” and
a Buddhist sutra consisting of twenty letters in four phrases: 迷故三界城 / 悟故十方空 / 本来無東西 / 何処有南北 (meikosangaijō
gokojippōkū honraimutōzai gashounanboku). The meaning of the
sutra is that people suffer because they are trapped in desires and remain in
the three realms of existence: the realm of desire-driven beings, the realm of
beings with form, and the realm of beings without form. The sutra suggests, however,
that when one regains the Buddhist mind by seeking satori, one’s obsessions
will disappear, replaced by a tranquil view of the world in which one is free
of restrictions. In this view, there is no east or west, no north or south, and
one can abandon obsessions and live freely. In addition, this sutra was sometimes
written on the inside of coffin lids. When a pilgrim died on his or her way, this
bamboo hat was placed on the body as a temporary substitute for a coffin. The
white clothes worn by henro pilgrims serve
as a uniform for the “dead” person on his or her last journey.
15.
黙々となお黙々と遍路道
mokumokuto nao mokumokuto henromichi
in silence
and still in silence
along the way
Sibley observes: “One of the great benefits of
the pilgrimage was spending hours each day in silence, ‘listening’ to your own
thoughts and memories. I don’t recall Shūji and I ever discussing this aspect
of long-distance walking, but this haiku tells me he shared the same pleasure
in silence and solitude.”
16.
丸顔の遍路婆らのよく笑ふ
marugao no henrobāra no yoku warau
round-faced,
the old women pilgrims
laughing well
17.
また逢ひし丸顔の婆遍路道
mata aishi marugao no bā henromichi
meeting again
that old lady with a round face—
pilgrimage road
18.
青き目の遍路もゐたり青龍寺
aoki me no henro mo itari seiryūji
a pilgrim, too,
with blue eyes—
Seiryū-ji Temple
In 806, while visiting T’ang-Dynasty China, Kōbō Daishi decided to establish a
school of Buddhism in Japan based on what he had learned in China. On the shore
of Mingzhou (now Hangzhou), just before he left China, he took hold of a dokko (or sanko), a ceremonial ornament, pointed at both ends, that is used
in esoteric Buddhist rituals. He then threw the dokko toward Japan and wished he might build a temple wherever it
landed. When Kōbō Daishi was traveling in the hills of a particular part of
Shikoku, he felt the presence of the dokko
he had thrown and asked the emperor to build a temple there, and thus Seiryū-ji
was built. In this poem Shūji Niwano uses the name Seiryū-ji (青龍寺), which is a variation of Shōryū-ji (青竜寺), for temple
36 (龍 is an informal variant of 竜). In a note with this poem, Niwano
says he met a couple and their son from the United Kingdom at this temple. Perhaps
this couple flew to this temple from abroad like the dokko.
19.
湯のあれば雨もまたよし遍路宿
yu no areba ame mo matayoshi henroyado
ah, a hot-spring bath,
so rain will be okay—
pilgrim’s inn
Sibley responds: “I fell in love with the Japanese o-furo, or bath. During a hard walk, the thought of a hot bath and
cold beer at the end of the day was like a carrot hanging in front of a donkey.”
20.
よき人の道連れとなり遍路宿
yoki hito no michizure to nari henroyado
I become a good person’s
traveling companion—
pilgrim’s inn
Sibley speculates: “I think this haiku refers to the day about halfway along
the pilgrimage trail when we met Yukuo Tanaka, a retired Tokyo engineer. His
wise presence strongly affected both me and Shūji.” The following photo shows Shuji Niwano, Robert Sibley, and Yukuo Tanaka. +
21.
土佐を出て三つ葉つつじの伊予に入る
tosa wo dete mitsubatsutsuji no iyo ni iru
leaving Tosa
I enter Iyo
and its azaleas
Tosa is now Kōchi prefecture, and Iyo is now Ehime, so the poet is conscious of
crossing a border, similar to moving from one state or province to another in
North America. The azaleas seem to welcome him—surely in bloom.
22.
うぐひすの迎へてくれし峠路
uguisu no mukaete kureshi tōgemichi
welcomed by
bush warblers
the mountain pass
23.
遍路して俳句の国に入りにけり
henro shite haiku no kuni ni iri ni keri
on my pilgrimage
I walk into
haiku country
Shūji Niwano has just entered Iyo prefecture, which is home to the city of Matsuyama
where such famous haiku poets as Shiki, Kyoshi, and Hekigotō were born—thus,
“haiku country.” Sibley adds: “I often noticed Shūji writing in a small
notebook, and when I asked him what he was writing about, he shyly referred to
himself as an ‘amateur’ practitioner of haiku. With this poem, I can’t help but
think that, like Bashō, Shūji found the solitude of long-distance walking to be
an inspiration.”
24.
道連れの増えて遍路の賑やかに
michizure no fuete henro no nigiyaka ni
with more companions
to pilgrimage with
we travel merrily
Sibley comments: “One of the pleasures of pilgrimage is the acquisition of a
pilgrim family. People attach themselves to you—or vice versa—and while you
might walk alone during the day, in the evening you come together as a kind of
community to eat, drink, and regale each other. Thanks to Shūji’s adoption of
me, I enjoyed this communitarian aspect of the Henro Michi much more than if
I’d been a gaijin on my own.”
25.
街並のやさしき伊予路遍路笠
machinami no yasashiki iyoji henrogasa
a laidback townscape
along the road to Iyo—
bamboo pilgrim’s hat
26.
うぐひすやあと一里またあと半里
uguisu ya ato ichiri mata ato hanri
bush warblers—
another league to go
another half league
A “league” is a unit for measuring distance. In Japan, an old unit of measurement
was the ri (里), which is nearly
four kilometers (2.44 miles). At one time the ri was said to equal the distance that a person could walk in a
fixed amount of time, which is similar to definitions of the old Western term
“league,” which was said to be the distance one could walk in an hour (about three
miles). However they might be measured, distances are understandably on the
minds of many Shikoku pilgrims. And of course, it’s the inspiring bush warbler
that helps the pilgrim in this poem to turn one league into just half a league.
27.
やはらかき俳句の国の藤の花
yawarakaki haiku no kuni no fuji no hana
so delicate
the wisteria flowers
of haiku country
28.
旅半ば変わりのありや花みずき
tabinakaba kawari no ari ya hanamizuki
journey half done—
have the dogwood blossoms
changed at all?
29.
旅半ば何も見えてこず春の風
tabinakaba nani mo miete kozu haru no kaze
although halfway there,
nothing comes to view—
spring wind
30.
遍路杖心無にして空にして
henrozue kokoro mu ni shite kū ni shite
pilgrim’s staff—
I fill my mind
with emptiness
Sibley notes: “One of the psychological aspects of pilgrimage is how after many
days of walking your mind slows down to match the pace of your walking. The
result, sometimes, is a kind of emptiness that can awaken you to spiritual
concerns.”
31.
ただ登る峠に春の風あれば
tada noboru tōge ni haru no kaze areba
climbing earnestly
to the mountain ridge
spring wind
32.
微笑みし野地蔵のゐて里若葉
hohoemishi nojizō no ite satowakaba
no more smiles
on the weather-beaten Jizō . . .
village in leaf
Ikuko Niwano, Shūji Niwano’s widow, chose this poem to be engraved on her
husband’s gravestone, perhaps seeing him as a weather-beaten Jizō—one that could no longer smile, even though it
always wanted to, because time and hardship had worn the smile away. This poem appeared in Robert
Sibley’s book in our earlier translation: “roadside Jizō / smiling in a field—
/ village of young leaves.” However, we later thought it more accurate to
revise the poem to clarify that the stone Jizō has been worn away and no longer
smiles. This aspect of the poem seems to more accurately capture what Shūji Niwano had become—a beaten but determined pilgrim of life. This would be a fine poem to end with, as it is indeed a fitting jisei, or death haiku, but we see one final touch of humanity after this in Niwano’s final poem.
33.
結願のビールのうまし大窪寺
kechigan no biiru no umashi ōkuboji
pilgrimage over—
our beer is tasty
at Ōkubo-ji Temple
Ōkubo-ji is the eighty-eighth and last temple on the Shikoku pilgrimage. Here is where henro pilgrims typically leave their kongō-zue (金剛杖) or walking
sticks. These sticks are often inscribed with the chant Namu-daishi-henjō-kongō (南無大師遍照金剛) and Dōgyō ninin (同行二人) or “We two pilgrims together” (which
also appears on the conical hats that pilgrims wear). This staff represents the
body of Kōbō Daishi and supports each pilgrim along the way, except when
crossing bridges when it is traditional to keep the staff lifted so as not to
disturb Kōbō Daishi, who once sought rest under a bridge. Sibley comments: “I
remember this evening well. We reached Ōkubo-ji after a very strenuous day.
After our final prayers, we headed to our hotel, arranging to meet for a
celebratory dinner. The beer was delicious.” If the previous poem (32) serves as the climax of this set of haiku, this last poem (33) is a sort of coda or denouement. In Shūji Niwano’s final poem, perhaps
beer is a substitute for the walking stick after the pilgrimage is over. Yet perhaps his
pilgrimage never ended at all.
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