Kyoto Day 3 began simply—with breakfast at Yayoiken Kyoto Station Hachijoguchi (やよい軒 京都駅八条口店).

For around 600 yen, I had a traditional Japanese set: grilled fish, rice, and soup. Nothing elaborate, but deeply satisfying. In its simplicity, it felt more nourishing than any fast food—quietly grounding before the day ahead.

The main destination was Kiyomizu-dera (清水寺), one of Kyoto’s most iconic temples. For many who grew up with Japanese anime, this place often appears as a powerful spiritual site—protecting the human world from unseen forces.
Yet beneath its beauty lies a more complex history.
During the Heian period, this area overlooked Toribeno, a burial ground where the dead—especially commoners who perished from famine or disease—were laid to rest. The temple itself was closely tied to mourning and remembrance. Later, in the Edo period, a curious custom emerged: people would leap from the temple’s wooden stage, believing that surviving the fall would grant their wishes.
Standing there today, it’s hard to reconcile that past with the present.

Now, the temple is filled with visitors—myself included—busy capturing moments through photos and videos. The energy has shifted. What was once a place of contemplation and confrontation with mortality now feels, at times, like a stage for self-expression.

As a Buddhist, I found certain moments quietly puzzling. Offerings of wine and liquor placed before Bodhisattva statues, the ceremonial gong struck while making wishes—it felt like a blending of devotion and desire. Perhaps this is simply how traditions evolve over time.

Leaving the temple grounds, I wandered through the lively streets surrounding it. Shops lined the paths, selling souvenirs, snacks, and all things matcha. It’s undeniably touristy, and prices reflect that—but sometimes convenience wins.

I decided to pause at Itohkyuemon Kiyomizu Sannenzaka (伊藤久右衛門 清水産寧坂店) for a matcha parfait and ice cream. Sitting there, looking out into the garden, I found myself observing something unexpectedly entertaining.

Just outside, people were deeply absorbed in taking photos.
Couples and friends took turns posing, reviewing shots, reacting—sometimes with delight, sometimes with visible frustration. I watched as one person carefully framed the perfect picture, only to be met with dissatisfaction. Instructions followed. Corrections. A slight tension in the air. Then another attempt.
It was almost comical—but also strangely familiar.
In those moments, I saw something deeper. Each of us carries desires—wanting things to look a certain way, to feel a certain way, to be seen in a certain way. And when reality doesn’t quite match that image, dissatisfaction arises. Sometimes we express it. Sometimes we project it onto others.
It’s easy to see this in others. Harder to see it in ourselves.
Watching quietly from the café, I realized I’m no different. The same patterns arise—expectation, disappointment, subtle pressure on the world to align with what I want.
Perhaps the practice is simply this: to notice.
To see clearly, without judgment.
And maybe, in that seeing, there is already a small step toward letting go.

May all be well and happy.