— Yomotsu Hirasaka
A Boundary Without Explanation
A large rock stands quietly in the forest,
marked with a sacred rope.
Nothing explains what it separates.
There is no sign telling you what lies beyond it.
The rope does not block the way —
it only makes one thing clear:
this is a place where you should pause.
This place is known in Japanese mythology as Yomotsu Hirasaka,
a boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead.
But standing there, mythology feels secondary.
What matters is not the story, but the feeling
that this is a line not meant to be crossed lightly.
Leaving Words
Nearby stands a small wooden post box.
It is not for wishes,
and not for prayers.
It is simply a place to leave letters
addressed to those who are no longer here.
I wrote a letter to my wife.
Not to call her back,
and not to follow her.
Only to leave words behind —
things that did not need to be carried any further.
After placing the letter inside,
there was nothing more to do.
No ritual.
No response.
Just the quiet certainty that the words had been left where they belonged.
A Path Not Noticed Before
On the way back,
I noticed something I had not seen before.
A narrow path branched off into the forest,
away from the place of the letter.
It was not marked,
and it did not invite attention.
I followed it.
The path was shaded,
enclosed by trees,
and unexpectedly calm.
It felt less like moving forward
and more like returning.
The Guardian of Return
Along the path stood a small pile of stones,
with a simple wooden marker.
This is Dosojin —
a folk deity that protects boundaries
and guards travelers on their way back.
Unlike grand shrines,
there is nothing imposing here.
No demand for reverence.
Only the sense that this place quietly does its job.
Only after leaving my words behind
did I notice this guardian.
Perhaps it was always there.
Perhaps I simply was not meant to see it before.
What Remains
Yomotsu Hirasaka is often described
as an entrance to the underworld.
But I did not experience it as a place to enter.
For me, it was a place to stop,
to leave words,
and to return without bringing anything back.
Nothing followed me out of the forest.
Nothing needed to.
Some places are not meant to be crossed.
They exist so that words can be left behind —
and life can continue on this side of the boundary.
