The first clue of Kyoto’s secrets was presented to me at the taxi from the Kansai Airport to Sensei’s home.
The thin monk who sat next to me wore a beautiful simple brown cloak and had a big worn-out leather school-bag. He seemed amused to hear how a Mediterranean; Hebrew speaking artist, is interested in Japanese Calligraphy. He looked at my Heart Sutra I copy from with a smile.
He was the last to depart from the taxi, in a secluded hilly neighborhood with a few houses hidden behind trees and bamboos. The cab stopped at what I imagined being one of the tiny esoteric shrines on the hills surrounding Kyoto. He wrote me his address on a small note and invited me wormely to visit.
I was taken up into the mountains.
I never got there even though I really wanted to.
No one could read his hand writing and figure out where this shrine is.