About
Beneath the vast expanse of Kyoto's sky, where the gentle murmur of the Hori River weaves through the city's tapestry, there lies a bridge—a modest span of stone and wood—that holds within its humble structure the weight of centuries and the whispers of countless souls. This is the Ichijō Modori-bashi, the Bridge of Return, a place where the veil between the tangible and the ethereal seems to thin, allowing the past to brush against the present.
As one approaches, the bridge appears unassuming, its weathered planks and sturdy railings bearing the marks of time. Yet, to the discerning eye, it is a portal to a realm where history and legend intertwine. The air here carries a certain stillness, a pause in the relentless march of time, inviting travelers to linger and listen.
In the year 918, as the chronicles tell, a funeral procession made its solemn journey across this very bridge. The esteemed scholar, Miyoshi Kiyoyuki, lay in repose, his spirit en route to the afterlife. His son, Jōzō, returning from distant Kumano, arrived just as the cortege reached the bridge. Overcome with grief, he clung to his father's casket, his prayers fervent and unyielding. And then, as if the heavens themselves had been moved, Kiyoyuki stirred, returning briefly from the beyond to share a final moment with his son. From that day forth, the bridge bore the name "Modori-bashi," the Bridge of Return, a testament to the power of love and the mysteries that dwell between life and death.
But the bridge's tales do not end there. In the shadowed hours of the night, it is said that the warrior Watanabe no Tsuna encountered a woman of otherworldly beauty upon this span. Offering her his aid, he allowed her to ride with him, only for her to reveal her true form—a fearsome demon intent on his demise. With swift resolve, Tsuna drew his blade, severing the demon's arm and sending her retreating into the darkness. The severed limb, a grim trophy, was later reclaimed by the demon, who, disguised as Tsuna's own kin, deceived him into relinquishing it.
The bridge also whispers of the enigmatic Abe no Seimei, the master onmyōji, who, it is said, concealed his shikigami—spiritual familiars—beneath its planks. These ethereal beings, bound to his will, awaited his summons, ready to serve in his arcane endeavors. The bridge, thus, became a nexus of supernatural activity, a place where the unseen danced just beyond the veil of the ordinary.
Even in matters of the heart, the bridge holds sway. Tradition cautions lovers and those betrothed to avoid crossing its span, lest their union be undone. The name "Modori," meaning "to return," carries with it the superstition that crossing the bridge might lead one back to their origins, disrupting the journey forward together. Conversely, for those embarking on travels or warriors heading to battle, crossing the bridge was a ritual, a hope that they would return safely to the embrace of home.
Today, as the sun casts its golden hues upon the bridge, cherry blossoms from nearby trees drift lazily onto its surface, creating a delicate mosaic of pink and white. The river below reflects the ever-changing sky, a mirror to the transient beauty that defines Kyoto. Passersby, some aware of the bridge's storied past, others simply enjoying the serenity it offers, traverse its length, each step a continuation of the countless journeys that have crossed its path.
Standing upon the Ichijō Modori-bashi, one cannot help but feel the layers of time converging. The laughter of children, the hushed conversations of lovers, the silent prayers of the hopeful—all mingle with the echoes of ancient tales. It is a place where the past is not forgotten but lives on, woven into the very fabric of the present, inviting all who cross to become part of its enduring story.