The Hanazono Shrine (花園神社, Hanazono Jinja) is a Shinto shrine. This shrine was founded in the mid-17th century. Nestled in the heart of Tokyo’s Shinjuku ward, Hanazono Jinja was constructed in the Edo period by the Hanazono family. This Inari shrine—a shrine dedicated to Inari, the androgynous god of fertility and worldly success—is a favorite place for businessmen to pray for successful ventures.
30oct25
30oct25
Coming back to Tokyo felt like returning to a dream I’d already woken from. But something’s shifted—subtly, invisibly. Maybe the city hasn’t changed. Maybe I have.
They say you can’t go home again, but I didn’t believe it until now. You can retrace every step, find the same ramen shop, walk the same narrow streets—but the feeling doesn’t return. What once shimmered with newness now feels distant.
It’s not sadness exactly—it’s something quieter. A recognition that time moves in only one direction, and the places that once felt like home remain suspended in a version of the past that no longer exists.
So I walk the same streets again, but this time as a ghost—half here, half somewhere that can’t be reached anymore. Tokyo is still beautiful. It’s just not mine in the same way it was before.
November 2025
29oct25
29oct25
30october2025
29oct25
Prowling the streets in ‘early morning Shibuya.’ Holiday from work so I caught my regular 5:56am train bypassing my transfer and came straight here. Trying to piece together the remnants of 22 years of off and on living and visiting here. So many places have changed since Covid, apparently, so my old landmarks are basically lost.
I ‘think’ I walked past a Family Mart that we would sit out front of drinking a Chu-Hi or whatever, before heading out to the clubs for the night. I ‘think’ I walked up the street where Craig Taylor, Jeannette, Jarren, and I saw DoGviLLe, the Lars Von Trier, Nicole Kidman classic.
Sitting at a Komeda’s Coffee ☕️ now, rethinking my approach to these streets today. Some people are still stumbling out of clubs. I remember those mornings!
29oct25
27october2025
Just a minute’s walk from the North Exit of Komae Station, you step off the Odakyū Line and into another world. Senryū-ji Temple sits quietly in the heart of Komae City, a reminder that even in suburban Tokyo—defined by trains, apartments, and convenience stores—the past is still alive, waiting for you to notice. I happened upon it and could feel the pull from concrete into lush greenery.
Founded in the year 765 by the monk Rōben, who is also tied to the great Tōdai-ji in Nara, Senryū-ji has been a place of prayer and continuity for more than twelve centuries.
The temple grounds are not sprawling, but they hold treasures: a two-storied bell tower rare in Tokyo, cultural assets protected by the city, and a pond dedicated to Benzaiten said to have appeared when Rōben prayed for rain. Walking here, you can feel how myth, history, and everyday devotion overlap.
What I love about Senryū-ji is its sense of contrast. The hum of trains and the rhythm of weekend revelers are right outside the gate, but inside, it’s very quiet, like today, with only the sounds of consistent raindrops pitter-pattering, either on statues, the top of my umbrella, or the changing leaves of autumn. Seasonal colors shift the mood.
Tokyo has countless temples, and many of them overwhelm with their size or their crowds. Senryū-ji is different. It doesn’t demand attention—it invites it. I could breathe here. And I was alone. So rare these days.
If you find yourself on the Odakyū Line, make the stop. Wander into Senryū-ji. It won’t take long, but it may stay with you far longer than you expect. Writing about it now is bringing the experience even more deeply within me.
26oct25
