A Walk Through Arigatayama, the Mountain of Gratitude
Recently, I was in Gotemba in Shizuoka. Most travelers passing there have one of two goals in mind. Some come to shop at the vast Gotemba Premium Outlets, one of the largest outlet complexes in Japan, while others arrive to begin their ascent of the legendary Mount Fuji (in summer).
Yet just beyond the busy roads and shopping crowds, on the quiet southeastern slopes of the mountain, lies a place that offers something far more meaningful than a luxury bargain or a summit photograph.
Hidden among forests and gentle hills is Arigatayama, literally translated as the “Mountain of Gratitude.” It is not a typical tourist attraction, nor is it widely known outside Japan. Instead, it is a sanctuary—a place built around reflection, humility, and thankfulness. Walking through its sacred grounds is less like visiting a temple complex and more like entering a different state of mind.
During my recent walk there, I discovered that Arigatayama is the kind of place that quietly reshapes your perspective long after you’ve left the foothills of Shizuoka Prefecture.
The Spirit of “Arigato”
Arigatayama serves as the headquarters of Nenpoushinkyou, a modern Japanese religious movement founded in the early twentieth century. While it has an organized spiritual framework, visitors do not need to be followers to appreciate the philosophy that defines the site.
At the heart of everything here lies one simple word: Arigato.
In Japanese, arigato means “thank you,” but its deeper meaning suggests something even more profound—gratitude for life itself. The teachings associated with Arigatayama emphasize expressing thankfulness for nature, for the wisdom of ancestors, and even for hardships that shape us into stronger people.
As soon as I stepped onto the wide stone paths, the atmosphere felt different from other temple grounds I had visited in Japan. The air seemed quieter, softer somehow. Tall cedar trees formed natural corridors along the walkways, their trunks rising like pillars into the sky. Sunlight filtered through the branches in scattered patterns across the ground, and the only sounds were distant bells, rustling leaves, and the occasional call of birds.
The sense of gratitude the site promotes isn’t loudly preached—it’s felt in the stillness.
Walking in the Shadow of a Deity
postcards, usually as a distant and iconic silhouette.
At Arigatayama, however, Fuji is not just a backdrop.
Because the sanctuary sits directly on the mountain’s slope, the presence of the volcano feels immense and immediate. The landscape rises toward the peak with quiet authority, reminding visitors that this sacred mountain has shaped Japanese spirituality for centuries.
Within the traditions of Shinto, Fuji is often regarded as a shintai—the physical body of a deity. In other words, the mountain itself is divine. Standing here beneath it, that idea suddenly feels less symbolic and more tangible.
On clear mornings the view is extraordinary. The perfect symmetry of Fuji’s snow-capped summit appears above the trees like a painting suspended in the sky. The most striking visual pairing is with the complex’s five-story pagoda, whose brilliant red structure rises above the surrounding forest.
The contrast is breathtaking:
deep green cedar forests
vivid red temple architecture
the brilliant white peak of Fuji above
For photographers it is a dream composition. But even without a camera, the scene offers something more valuable: a moment of perspective. Under a mountain that has stood for hundreds of thousands of years, everyday worries suddenly feel small and temporary.
On the way to Arigatayama (Photo Liomugai)
The Silent Crowd: 1,800 Jizo Statues
The most powerful moment of the walk comes gradually, as the path begins to fill with rows upon rows of stone statues.
Nearly 1,800 figures of Jizo line the trails of Arigatayama.
These statues represent Jizo Bosatsu, one of the most beloved protective figures in Japanese Buddhism. Jizo is traditionally considered the guardian of travelers, children, and souls moving through the afterlife. Throughout Japan, small Jizo statues often stand beside roads, rivers, and temple gates.
But seeing so many together is something entirely different.
At Arigatayama, the statues form what feels like a silent congregation, stretching along pathways and terraces among the trees. Each figure has its own posture and expression. Some appear peaceful, others contemplative. A few even seem to smile gently.
Walking among them feels like moving through a gathering of patient watchers.
Jizo Crowd
One detail immediately catches the eye: almost every statue wears a bright red knitted bib or cap.
These garments are not decorative. They are offerings placed by families and devotees as acts of care and devotion. In Japanese folk belief, the color red is associated with protection—it is thought to ward off illness, misfortune, and harmful spirits.
Traditionally, parents who have lost a child or who pray for a child’s safety may dress a Jizo statue in red clothing. By doing so, they symbolically entrust their love and concern to the compassionate protection of Jizo.
Seeing hundreds of these small hand-knitted garments is deeply moving. Each one represents a story—someone’s grief, hope, gratitude, or prayer.
The result is both quiet and powerful: a visual reminder that even anonymous statues can carry human emotion.
Praying Jizo
Another remarkable detail becomes clear when you look closely at the statues: no two faces are exactly the same.
Many of the Jizo figures here were donated by families or individuals as expressions of thanks. A recovered illness, a safe journey, a prayer answered—each statue can represent a moment of gratitude made permanent in stone.
The statues are often hand-carved and intentionally simple. Their material—stone from the earth—symbolizes the “Womb of the Earth,” a concept representing nature’s nurturing and enduring presence.
Over time, rain, moss, and mountain weather slowly soften the features of the statues. Instead of diminishing them, the aging process seems to deepen their presence, allowing them to blend naturally with the mountain landscape.
It is as if the mountain itself gradually adopts them.
Arigatayama is not simply a temple complex—it is a place intentionally designed to slow you down and shift your perspective.
By the time I finished my walk and began descending toward Gotemba, the noise of the modern world felt distant. The experience had quietly changed the rhythm of my thoughts.
In a world often defined by speed and achievement, Arigatayama offers a different message: pause, breathe, and be grateful.
And perhaps that is why the “Mountain of Gratitude” lingers in memory long after the journey ends. When you leave its cedar paths, you carry something small but meaningful with you—a little more arigato in every step.
The word Kamon translates literally to “house mark.” Unlike European heraldry, which is often complex and colorful, Kamon are almost always circular and designed in a single color (usually white on black or vice versa).
Originally, these marks were used by the nobility in the Heian period (794–1185) to identify their ox-carriages. Later, during the bloody warring states period, they became essential on the battlefield to distinguish friend from foe.
Popular Motifs
Most Kamon are derived from nature, geometry, or everyday objects. Each carries a specific “language” or virtue. The most kown :
Motif
Name
Meaning
Chrysanthemum
Kiku
The symbol of the Emperor and the Imperial family.
Hollyhock
Aoi
Famous as the crest of the Tokugawa Shogunate.
Crane
Tsuru
Represents longevity, loyalty, and good fortune.
To continue this post, I propose to detail the more known : The Imperial Kamon and the Tokugawa Kamon.
The Flower of the Sun: The Story of the Japanese Imperial Kamon
In the hierarchy of Japanese family emblems, one stands above all others. It is not owned by a samurai clan or a noble house, but by the oldest continuous hereditary monarchy in the world.
This is the Kiku-mon (菊紋)—the Sixteen-Petal Chrysanthemum—the official crest of the Emperor of Japan.
The Design: The 16-Petal Chrysanthemum
The Imperial Kamon is a stylized chrysanthemum consisting of a central circle surrounded by 16 front petals, with the tips of 16 back petals peeking out from behind.
While the chrysanthemum is a common flower, this specific “double-layered” 16-petal design is reserved exclusively for the Emperor. It is a masterpiece of radial symmetry, designed to resemble a blazing sun, bridging the gap between the flower of the earth and the goddess of the sun, Amaterasu, from whom the Imperial line is said to descend.
Meiji-Jingu Torri with the Imperial Kamon
Why the Chrysanthemum?
The choice of the chrysanthemum dates back to the Heian Period (794–1185).
The “Medicinal” Flower: Originally imported from China, the chrysanthemum was believed to grant longevity and ward off evil spirits.
Emperor Go-Toba: The 82nd Emperor, Go-Toba (reigned 1183–1198), was a great lover of the flower. He began using it as his personal seal, engraving it on his swords and documents.
Formal Adoption: Over time, what started as a personal preference became the official emblem of the Imperial House.
Emperor’s desk in his summer residence in Numazu Imperial Villa (沼津御用邸, Numazu Goyōtei) (Photo: Liomugai)
The “Forbidden” Mark
For centuries, the use of the 16-petal chrysanthemum was strictly regulated. During the Meiji Restoration (1868), when the Emperor was restored to central power, the government passed laws to solidify the Kiku-mon as a national symbol of authority.
Strict Exclusivity: From 1871 until the end of World War II, it was a crime for a commoner to use the Imperial crest.
The “Prince” Variations: Members of the Imperial family branches use a slightly different version (typically a 14-petal chrysanthemum) to distinguish themselves from the reigning Emperor.
Where to find Imperial Kamon today ?
The Imperial Kiku-mon is a living symbol of the Japanese state. You can find it in several significant places:
The Japanese Passport: The gold emblem on the cover of every Japanese passport is a simplified 16-petal chrysanthemum.
Diplomatic Buildings: It serves as the official seal on the gates of Japanese embassies and consulates worldwide.
Shrines: Because the Emperor is the head of Shinto, the Kiku-mon is prominently displayed at major shrines, most notably Ise Jingu and Yasukuni Shrine.
The Diet (Parliament): It appears on the podiums and official documents of the Japanese government.
The Japanese throne itself is often referred to in English as the “Chrysanthemum Throne.”
The Kiku-mon represents more than just royalty; it embodies the essence of Japan:
Immortality: As the flower blooms in the autumn and survives the first frosts, it represents resilience.
Solar Power: The radial lines evoke the Nisshō (the rising sun), reinforcing the Emperor’s role as a descendant of the Sun Goddess.
National Unity: Today, it serves as a symbol of the unity of the Japanese people.
The Power and Legacy of the Tokugawa Kamon
In the history of Japan, few symbols carry as much weight, fear, and prestige as the Mitsuba Aoi (三葉葵)—the Triple Hollyhock crest. For over 250 years, this emblem was the ultimate mark of authority, representing the Tokugawa Shogunate, the military government that unified Japan and maintained an era of unprecedented peace.
The Design: The Triple Hollyhock
The Tokugawa Kamon features three leaves of the wild ginger (often referred to as “hollyhock”) pointing inward within a circle.
Unlike many other Kamon that use flowers (like the Imperial Chrysanthemum), the Aoi leaf is humble and hardy. However, when arranged in the Tokugawa style, it becomes a balanced, geometric masterpiece that suggests stability and unwavering strength.
Tokugawa Kamon in Sunpu (Shizuoka)
Origins and Divine Connection
Before they were Shoguns, the Tokugawa were the Matsudaira clan of Mikawa Province. They adopted the hollyhock crest because of its association with the Kamo Shrine in Kyoto.
The Ritual: The hollyhock was used in the Aoi Matsuri, one of Kyoto’s oldest and most sacred festivals.
The Blessing: By adopting this mark, the Tokugawa ancestors claimed the spiritual protection of the Kamo deities, signaling that their lineage was blessed by the gods long before they took political power.
A Symbol of Absolute Authority
During the Edo Period (1603–1868), the Mitsuba Aoi was not just a decoration; it was a legal instrument.
Exclusivity: The Shogunate passed strict laws forbidding anyone outside the Tokugawa family (and a few specific branches like the Mito, Owari, and Kii) from using the hollyhock design.
The “Badge” of Power: In popular Japanese folklore and television (such as the famous show Mito Kōmon), a protagonist often reveals a small lacquer box (inrō) featuring the Tokugawa crest. At the mere sight of it, even the most corrupt officials must bow to the floor in submission, as the crest was equivalent to the presence of the Shogun himself.
Where to find Tokugawa Kamon today ?
Although the Shogunate fell during the Meiji Restoration in 1868, the Tokugawa legacy remains etched into the landscape of Japan:
Nikkō Tōshō-gū: The lavishly decorated shrine and mausoleum of Tokugawa Ieyasu is covered in gold-leafed Aoi crests.
The City of Nagoya: The Nagoya city flag is actually a stylized version of the character “eight” ($八$) inside a circle, but the city remains the spiritual home of the Owari-Tokugawa branch, and the crest is visible throughout the city’s historical sites.
The Tokugawa Art Museum: Located in Nagoya, this museum houses the finest collection of Shogunal treasures, all branded with the triple hollyhock.
Why the Tokugawa Kamon Matters
The Tokugawa Kamon represents the Great Peace (Pax Tokugawa). It reminds us of a time when Japan transitioned from a nation of constant civil war into a unified society with a flourishing culture of arts, poetry, and philosophy.While other Kamon represent individual families, the Mitsuba Aoi represents an entire era of human history.
Why having chosen the Mitsuba Aoi for Liomugai ?
I initially considered using my japanese family crest for Liomugai , but I felt the site needed something with a broader appeal. My decision was finalized during a visit to Kunōzan Tōshō-gū. Seeing the simplified kamon etched into the ancient stones there was a revelation; it was elegant and understated. That place, so quiet and connected to the earth, stayed with me. As I descended from the mountain, it became clear: this simplified emblem was the ideal visual identity for Liomugai.
After the precision of the workshops in Seki and the focus of the Dojo, my journey brought me to a place of profound silence: Arigatayama, near Gotemba.
I spent a few days in this sacred space, located under the watchful presence of Mount Fuji.
In the world of Budo, we often focus on the steel, the technique, and the strength of the cut. But at Arigatayama—the “Mountain of Gratitude”—the practice shifts from the hands to the heart.
The Spirit of the Mountain
Arigatayama is not just a destination; it is a reminder. The air in Gotemba is sharp and clear, stripping away the distractions of modern life. Standing there, the principles of Mugai-ryū feel more alive than ever.
In our style, we seek “One Truth, nothing outside.” At the foot of Fuji, you realize that the “Truth” isn’t found only in the perfect length of a blade or the speed of a draw—it is found in the connection we share with our lineage and with each other.
At the summit of the mountain, I sat for hours in Zazen before the silent majesty of Mount Fuji. Within the walls of the Temple of the Dragon, time seemed to dissolve. It was a rare moment to step back from the world—a spiritual reset to find clarity and reenergize my spirit for the year ahead.
A Personal Message to My Students and Followers
My time at Arigatayama was spent in deep reflection, and my thoughts kept returning to all of you.
I want to take this moment to say thank you (Arigato) to my students and my followers and wish you a fantastic 2026 year for you and your loved ones.
Your continuous support is the “breath” that sustains my own practice.
