I've had breast cancer and hate pink ribbons.
I know the ribbons mean something to a lot of people. But to me they trivialize a life-changing, and sometimes life-taking, illness. One of my doctors gave me a pink ribbon pin the day after he told me I had cancer. I came home and threw it on the compost heap. Childish, but it made me feel a bit better.
Fortunately, there were no pink ribbons at the breast shrine I visited last month in Japan.
We stopped there on the way to Nichinan City, sister city to Portsmouth, N.H. (See my story about Nichinan in the Nov. 11 New Hampshire Sunday News.) The Udo shrine was tucked into the cliffs of the southern Kyushu coastline. Our taxi passed through the vermilion torii gate and drove along a very narrow road for a mile or so. To the right was a drop of at least 100 feet to the Pacific; to the left were rock surfaces that resembled Star Trek sets. I asked if they were volcanic formations; my guide Sumiyo dryly informed me the cliffs had been sealed with concrete to prevent rocks from falling onto the road.
It began to rain lightly as we entered the shrine's parking area, which was almost full.
The breast shrine is in a cave at the foot of a series of graceful steps and bridges. The ocean boomed against giant boulders, foaming into a recess opposite the cave entrance. At the orange railing, people stood tossing marble-sized clay balls they had purchased from the shrine keepers. The object is to get a ball into a square hole cut into a turtle-shaped rock some 25 feet below. Women are to use their right hand and men their left. If you get a ball into the pool of water filling the hole, your wish will come true. I tried and failed with five clay balls.
The cave is very open and illuminated by natural light. The first thing you see are the charm sellers (the charms are gold turtles with movable silver feet, tied to a purple knotted thread).
According to one legend, the first emperor of Japan, Jinmu, and his wife stopped at the cave on a journey with their newborn son. She was trying to feed the baby, but could produce no milk. A liquid began dripping from the roof of the cave, and the Empress filled a bamboo bottle and fed her son.
Hence, the "breast shrine" is a popular destination for nursing mothers, pregnant women or women who want to become pregnant and newlyweds hoping for a happy marriage.
A sharp left turn just past the cave entrance leads you into a large open space.
"There are the breasts," Sumiyo said as my eyes adjusted to the slightly dimmer light. I looked in the direction she was pointing.
All I could see was a rock wall. In its center was a white sign with a black arrow pointing downward at about a 45-degree angle.
"Turn sideways," Sumiyo said. "Look at where the arrow is pointing."
I did as instructed and saw them, jutting from the wall of the cave. Two perfect breasts, about five times life-size (think Dolly Parton).
Looking at the gracefully shaped stone mounds -- clearly a natural feature and not manmade -- I said a little prayer for all the women with breast cancer I have known, including myself. It sounds like a solemn moment, but I was smiling.
The shrine said everything about Japan, the most simultaneously spiritual and practical place I have ever visited. The Shinto reverence for nature and spirit within nature was there, but a large sign with an arrow marked the spot.