The Gravity of Inari
This image reflects the tone and underlying structure of the article.
— A Quiet Accumulation of Prayer
Once a month, before dawn breaks, I climb Mount Inari.
While it is known as the sacred mountain of the famous tourist destination Fushimi Inari Taisha Shrine, the mountain itself is not a sightseeing spot.
That said, the shrine’s main grounds are flooded daily with crowds of tourists—almost like rush hour.
There’s a popular belief that offering a 5-yen coin (for its phonetic link to “good fate”) is best, but I’d suggest offering more if possible, to help preserve this cultural heritage.
In truth, most Japanese people have little understanding of what Inari deities actually are.
Myself included. Even local Shinto priests often don’t know exactly what they are praying to—they simply continue their prayers quietly each day.
And it’s not as if anyone has supernatural powers, or sees visions, or senses something extraordinary.
If there is something “there,” it is the act of accumulation itself.
People often speak of perseverance or snowballing effort. But in places like Fushimi Inari—and many religious sites across Japan—there is a different kind of accumulation: one that spans over a thousand years of time and action.
Yes, it’s true that the atmosphere of the place can be alluring.
But for me personally, what draws me in is not the space itself, but the weight of all those who came before—those who left quiet layers of prayer over the centuries.
In recent years, Japan has seen a growing trend of abandoning ancestral graves.
The practice of ancestor veneration is fading, and shrines and temples are increasingly consumed as “resources” for tourism, stripped of deeper understanding.
In that process, the “something” that was built up—layer upon layer by people of the past—is being quietly erased, often without notice.
And yet, like wind that never stops, prayer continues on.
From a pamphlet available on the shrine grounds
Luck
The Fushimi Inari Taisha Shrine enshrined at the western foot of Mt. Inari at the southern tip of Kyoto’s Higashiyama Sanju-Roppo (36 mountain range) is the head shrine of the 30,000 Inari-sha shrines nationwide. It has been a place of wide worship for the guardian god of abundant crops, businesses, prosperity, and family safety since the Inari Okami (god of harvest) was housed on Mt. Inari in the 4th year (711) of Hatsu-uma (the first day of the horse) in February during the Wado era.
The symbol is a fox
The fox is the Inari Okami’s (god of harvest) servant. A fox it is, but it is not one that lives in the fields; it is a spirit fox that has been believed to convey our wishes to Inari Okami.
The vermillion building and torii
From ancient times, the color vermilion has been considered to symbolize the life force and counteract spells. As the color that expresses the power of Inari Okami (god of harvest), many of the shrine buildings and toriis (shrine gates) on the grounds are vividly painted vermilion.
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稲荷の引力（原文）
― 静かに積み重ねられる祈りのかたち
月に一度、まだ世が明けない時間に稲荷山に登ります。
稲荷山は観光地として知られる伏見稲荷大社の「お山」ですが、ここは観光地ではありません。
それはさておき、境内は連日、観光客でラッシュアワーのような賑わいです。
お賽銭について「五円（ご縁）が良い」という俗信がありますが、文化財保全のためにも、できれば気持ち多めにお納めいただければと思います。
実際のところ、多くの日本人は稲荷神についてほとんど理解していません。
もちろん、私自身も含めて。地方の神主ですら、それが何なのかを明確に語ることは難しく、ただ静かに拝み続けているというのが実情です。
そして、基本的には誰もスーパーパワーを持っておらず、特別な「何かが見える」わけでも、「何かを感じている」わけでもありません。
もし“在る”とするならば、それは「積み重ね」そのものです。
継続やスノーボールといった言葉が現代でも語られますが、伏見稲荷をはじめとする日本の宗教施設には、千年単位で積み上げられてきた時間と行為の層があります。
確かに、その場所や空間自体に魅かれることもあります。
けれど私個人としては、「その場所に対して祈りを重ねてきた、無数の時の人々」にこそ惹かれているのだと感じています。
日本では近年、墓じまいの動きが進み、先祖供養の習慣が消えつつあります。
神社や仏閣も、本質を理解されないまま“観光資源”として消費されることが増えています。
そうして「時の人たちによって積み重ねられた何か」が、目に見えないまま静かに失われていることを、私はひとつの“刹那”として、静かに悲しく思います。
それでも、祈りは風のように続いています。