Pathway to Japanese Literature

That quiet stirring of emotion from that time still lingers, unerased.
The steep slopes of mountains still patched with snow as Small New Year approached, the faint breeze rustling through young green wheat leaves, the distant sound of a flute making the journey to the night festival village feel endless—through all the countless times we had ventured out to attend the Flower Festival since then, this memory had spread through the depths of our hearts.
For about five years now—this phenomenon of people becoming as if driven by some unseen force toward the border mountains of Mikawa, Shinano, and Totomi whenever early spring arrived—was something Mr. Hayakawa, author of Flower Festival, should have grasped most profoundly.
Nowadays, even in vast Tokyo, there had come to be an increasing number of people who instead felt satisfaction at being sneered at by the scholars of Kinuta Village for things like flower revelries.
All of this stemmed from people having been enchanted by Mr. Hayakawa’s richly detailed tales.

In ancient times as well, there are records of dengaku becoming popular in the capital and being attributed to the work of foxes.
In the Flower Festival as well, I cannot help but feel that such a force of attendant spirits dwells within.

The first to uncover these mysteries and who still delves ever deeper into their narration was Mr. Hayakawa Kotaro.
And indeed, I myself had been the one first drawn into this pursuit at its inception.
Whenever I recall the Flower Festival, I find myself inevitably conjuring up this Yamato-e painter's endearing manner of storytelling.
What little knowledge I possess regarding the Flower Festival must be said to have been gathered entirely through this person's guidance, down to every last detail.
I feel compelled to convey to you all the profound depth of indebtedness I have incurred through this process.

In the Flower Festival, there exist "Negibana" and "Hōinbana," and these continued to be performed by the Okuyamake family in Shitara even in the Showa era. And at times, responding to the summons of Yakuana supplicants, they would even venture out near the plains. Amidst those ceremonial acts, there existed the practice of stepping upon the demons' traces. I had been told from beginning to end by Mr. Hayakawa that such mysterious memories remained as impressions from childhood nurtured at Nagashino Pass.

By that time, Mr. Hayakawa was already conducting research on local kyogen.
And I too was contemplating the organization of performance history.
Four or five years before that time—when I was still young and prone to sentimentality—while passing through Asake Village in Shimoina at the southern edge of Shinano Province, I had heard talk of the Snow Festival dengaku held at Niino's Izu Gongen shrine during New Year celebrations, and felt there would likely be another occasion to return.
In Sakabe—a place crossed when traveling from Niino to Sata in the northeastern corner of Higashi-Mikawa—there was an incident where a single Snow Festival mask, stolen from Tōtōmi Province and forgotten by a tayū performer who had packed his lunch during the journey, had been left behind. On the night of the Niino Festival, I half-listened to talk of how it must not be allowed to rage unchecked.

This long-held wish to observe the Snow Festival and the later desire to research the Flower Festival that Mr. Hayakawa had incited—upon learning that favorable days along the route continued one after another—had become something I could no longer contain.
In the New Year of Taisho 12 [1923], over five days encompassing that period, I closely observed both the ritual practices of the Snow Festival and the villagers' emotional engagement.
On the day before the main festival, there were no particularly notable events.
On that very day, having learned that the Flower Festival of Misawa in Toyone Village, Mikawa Province was being held in Makishima just beyond a single mountain pass, I crossed Niino Pass for the first time with the help of Mr. Nakato Masazo, the village’s dedicated scholar.
The act of quietly surveying Shitara’s mountain village through its cold, mist-veiled evening and maintaining vigil until noon the following day constituted my first experience of the Flower Festival’s rituals.
What I observed at this time—categorized under Mr. Hayakawa’s system as belonging to either the Furusegawa lineage or Oinugawa lineage—qualified as representing the latter tradition within Misawa Sannai during that period.

At that time in Misawa's Flower Festival, young men with well-formed faces and graceful dance movements were gathered. The Mitsumai dance and Yubayashi music—those roles performed by the young men—I recall being both readily comprehensible and profoundly enjoyable even to us travelers.

The figures—transitioning from the hitatare robes of servants depicted in picture scrolls to happi coats, then to modern workmen's jackets and kanten festival coats whose developmental path became clearly visible, all paired with mountain trousers—cast a vivid illusion of ancient forms over the new era.
In the smoke from the bonfire burning in the dance area, while straining my eyes, I continued being astonished by the old man’s tales, the elderly shrine maidens walking with downcast eyes that seemed both present and absent, and the ceaseless appearances of demons.
This effort to envision an era when such practices were widely conducted as one form of divine ritual could not help but stir my heart.
However, each element now merely stood arrayed as unresolved questions.

When I saw how Mr. Hayakawa—perpetually accompanied and possessed by this whirling dream-like chaos and ritual performances that had grown profoundly distinct in each hamlet—had so vividly systematized it all within this single volume through his continued efforts, I even felt a pang of envy.

But Mr. Hayakawa was duly rewarded.
Afterwards, as a solitary traveler crossing wooden horse trails and cliffside plank bridges from village to village—visiting every residence housing Negi ritualists, village elders, and elderly women, even newly settled farmers' lone houses—it was his passion for wresting answers from heavy, reluctant mouths that birthed this systematic work.
What proved even more impressive was how he managed to retrieve transmission manuals and records that had been secretly hidden away and become dwelling places for silverfish.

As a result, it was discovered that beyond the kagura traditions known to us, there existed another type of kagura—proclaimed from a certain era and region—whose methods and purposes contained implications urging scholars to revise established theories.

Having tossed and turned in crude mountain dwellings hundreds of times—as the local expression goes—he himself endured stomach-upsetting meals of millet rice and chopped vegetable stew, only to return bearing rare delicacies like acorn cakes and mushroom-walnut salads for refined urbanites.

Moreover, Mr. Hayakawa possessed both the finest of mentors and a noble-hearted patron.
The former was Professor Yanagita—the shared academic father of us all and founder of Japanese folkloristics—while the latter was Mr. Shibusawa Keizo, a man of profound dedication who, amidst busyness leaving no time to visit academia's inner sanctum, sought to have others perform scholarly pilgrimages on his behalf.

In order to preserve the methodology he had received from Professor Yanagita, he did not attempt to go beyond the scope of his field notes.
To the scholars of today, I want to say: Could they possibly accomplish such a thing?
Moreover, those records have been arranged with such wise organization that it nearly amounts to stating a conclusion.
One of Professor Yanagita’s methodological ideals has here manifested in complete form.

Mr. Shibusawa exerted an extraordinary dedication that defies description in order to enable Mr. Hayakawa to complete his scholarly work and to have those records made public.
Moreover, that he himself came to possess such passion as to be called one of the flower fanatics during this period demonstrates a splendid ambition that transcends both the fashionable hobbies of wealthy patrons seeking public renown and the dilettantism of mere benefactors.

Mr. Hayakawa secured rare individuals as both mentor and patron.
Yet there remains one scholarly companion whose absence would leave us desolate—a companion who finds no one to nurture the warmth of academic inquiry.
I believe this stems from Japanese folklore studies still being in its infancy, crowded with scholars like ourselves.
Even someone like myself, while being his friend, harbors an uncommendable heart that cannot take pride as a good friend for Mr. Hayakawa.
I came to feel that henceforth I wish for us to continue mutually encouraging one another through fieldwork, lived experience, and scholarly argumentation.
This is not solely out of gratitude for this "Flower Festival".
From the very beginning when this research took shape, reflecting on the long trail of footsteps that followed Mr. Hayakawa could no longer be contained within the emotion-laden logic of a middle-aged academic ally.
It is with such affection—one that spurs and inspires—that I wrote this essay serving as both a commentary on this book and a divergent perspective.

It may be that this essay of mine has not fully elucidated the true meaning of the Flower Festival and mountain kagura.
I myself have here and there already entered into fixed molds of thought that require transformation.
I have come to understand quite well the portions where vague points have become pronounced.
However, believing that even this might serve as a wretched foothold both for myself henceforth and for researchers after Mr. Hayakawa and me, I closed my eyes and resolved to lay it bare before the world.

Mountain Divine Groups

I. The Land in Question

The villages that perform the Flower Festival, as Mr. Hayakawa’s meticulous report has already clarified, number around twenty locations in Shitara alone.
Additionally, in the mountainous regions bordering these areas—parts of Minami-Shinshū and the Tenryū area of Kita-Enshū—there are one or two locations as well.
The villages performing this each have fixed boundaries, with clear determinations of which hamlets come from where to dance and which hamlets are invited to perform dances.
In other words, there exists what might be called a type of ritual performer village—and if one considers why such villages exist by examining why this ritual has survived only in Mikawa’s mountainous regions, the reason becomes naturally apparent.

Here in northeastern Mikawa lay a land truly rich in interest.
In the mountainous regions along the borders of Shinano and Tōtōmi Provinces—centering on the Minami and Kita Shitara Districts—there existed not only the Flower Festival.
Various folk arts—primarily those belonging to what I refer to as performing arts—remained preserved here.
Why such performing arts had survived in this land had been a question that preoccupied our group.
In the past, there had been people who associated the place name Shitara with Shitara dances.
People carrying the Shidara deity—that is to say, those who send off deities—performed frenzied dances, which they had called Shitara dances. However, since this dated back to the Heian period, it seemed too far removed in time.
As for myself, paying no particular attention to the place name Shitara, I vaguely considered the period when this Flower Festival had come into being.

II. Villages of Mercenaries—Settlement of Itinerant Divine Ritualists

My thoughts take two paths, but I believe these lines of thinking should naturally converge.
The first posits that there existed mercenary villages—which were simultaneously divine ritualist groups—deep in Mikawa's mountains, from which many people ventured forth to lend their strength to various samurai clans; I theorize that the remnants of these became the Flower Festival villages.
Of course, one cannot claim that all current flower villages are those dating back to ancient times, but by and large, it can be observed that such ancient elements predominantly form their core.
How did such villages come into existence?
The northeastern mountainous region of Mikawa was topographically suited for people involved in ritual affairs to settle because it faced the plains of the three provinces—Mikawa, Owari, and Mino.
They also became mercenaries at the same time.
These people are not thought to have existed from such ancient times.
I believe that in a certain era, those who had been wandering through various provinces began gathering here due to geographical conditions; as they branched out and later arrivals similarly settled, villages were formed.

In Japan, continuing from ancient times when national consciousness had not yet solidified, a single divine ritualist group wandered. These later yamabushi groups—who traveled through provinces wielding a form of religious mystical power to both bless villages and suppress malevolence—exhibited some transformations as they adopted the hues of successive eras and drew closer to contemporary religions. Yet their essential spirit remained nearly unchanged; for a considerable period thereafter, they continued their journeys bearing both performing arts and mystical powers.

This form, though it cannot be stated definitively, was imitated by certain samurai families from the Kamakura period onward.
In other words, ruined samurai families and their offshoots—leading their subordinates on journeys to seek land—immediately began imitating the wandering ritualists of old, intimidating villages.
Things like Rappa, Suppa, Suri, and Gandō emerged from this.

The fact that samurai families could so conveniently imitate divine ritualists whenever they journeyed forth had its reasons.
Samurai families of old all shared a certain regional religion; thus they naturally came to understand the central rituals for religious ceremonies and consequently developed accompanying performing arts.
In order to be welcomed by villages and provinces far and wide, they would first perform rituals to bless these communities, thereby apparently winning over the people’s hearts.

However, their activities were not limited to that alone.
They became mercenaries and participated in wars.
For in ancient times, war itself was a form of religious ritual.
From conflicts waged through spiritual power, they came to engage in actual combat.

These people would typically stay as dependents in provincial samurai households or local lord residences—some settling permanently under such arrangements—while others would embark on new journeys once their tasks concluded or inconveniences arose; there were even instances where they overthrew the patron households that had sheltered them and seized their lands.
From the Kamakura period through the Sengoku era, those who gained status through such means were not few in number.

For example, Hōjō Sōun also appears to have traveled in this manner.
His initial movements began from the hinterlands of Uji and Tahara, spanning parts of Yamashiro, Iga, Ise, and Ōmi.
The main lineage was based at Seki in Ise, while its offshoot likely resided near Uji.
I believe this is why he came to be called by names like Ise Shinkurō, but the subordinates he initially took with him were very few in number, all bearing place names from around Uji.
It remains unclear whether he possessed performing arts, but he did have military strength.
Thus, he first attached himself to the Imagawa clan, then gradually took control of eastern forces, finally advancing as far as Odawara.
Historians question how such influence could be gained by small traveling groups, but this was a style always found among warrior bands that modeled themselves after itinerant divine ritualists—those who since ancient times journeyed continuously to open new lands.
Originally, this was possible because they already possessed traditions that had been passed down.

III. Mountain Blessing Invocations - Mountain People and Mountain Crones

Divine ritualists who continued wandering in this manner had existed since ancient times; however, the older form for divine ritualists was to normally reside in Okuyama households and occasionally descend to the villages. They were divine ritualists who served the mountain god—these we call mountain people.

When speaking of mountain people, later generations came to imagine them as demons or tengu, referring to them as mountain men or mountain dwellers—even considering them barbarians—but they were neither such supernatural beings nor descendants of indigenous peoples. The path by which they came to be considered demons will, I believe, gradually become clear through subsequent explanations.

Just as mountain people came to be imagined as mountain specters, the mountain crone too became believed to be a female mountain monster; however, these were actually shrine maidens serving the mountain god—the name "uba" (crone) derives from their role of embracing and protecting the deity, being etymologically related to "obasan" (aunt).
This would later come to serve as the deity’s spouse as well.

The group stationed in the mountains of Shitara can be said to have preserved this ancient form.
However, one cannot therefore assert that they had existed since ancient times.
Due to their circumstances—moving between the plains and mountain households—it becomes reasonable to view that during their wanderings through various provinces, they came to settle in the mountains of Shitara as a central base, positioned adjacent to the plains of Mino, Owari, and Mikawa.
Among the reasons for this selection, one must consider the waters of the Tenryū River.

Although these mountain people ordinarily severed all contact with the villages, during year-end and New Year they would descend to offer blessings upon patrons' homes and villages.
They came bearing the mountain dance that conveyed the winter festival's spirit pacification, but once it concluded, they would return to the mountains as if vanishing without trace.
They took circuitous routes to avoid detection by villagers.
The legend of "hidden villages" arose from this practice.

I visited Tamine and went deep into Enshū's mountains to observe Dengaku performances, fully realizing how similar their accessible terrain features were.
If one were to carelessly take the highway, the village lay spread out in a place that would not easily catch notice.
The bases of those who held ritual blessing duties as mountain people had mostly been located in such hidden villages.

IV. The Ancient Meaning of Winter Festivals—The Tama-furi (Spirit Pacification) Festival

The year's end when these mountain people descended to the villages was originally the Eleventh Month.
The Flower Festival preserved in Mikawa is now mostly held in January—with some areas conducting it in December—but originally it remained an Eleventh Month ritual.

The extreme limit of the Eleventh Month was called _shiwasu_, and it appears _shiwasu_ meant 'extreme limit'.
Since this was also pronounced _shiwasu_, there likely existed no such month called Shiwasu in ancient times.

On this winter festival day, they descended to perform spirit pacification.
The mountain crone danced her mountain crone's dance, while the mountain people danced attired as the mountain god.
That site came to be called _ichi_.
"This is _ichi_'s ancient meaning."

The gifts brought by the mountain people who came for the tama-furi were mountain offerings, and they exchanged these with the villagers.
The tales of mountain crones coming to market days to feast voraciously and the legends of them returning home with small bags endlessly filled—these, I believe, originated from such exchanges.
The reason why places called markets in ancient times were mostly near mountains can also be considered.
There, bartering was conducted.

My thoughts on winter festivals had been discussed in other contexts.
That winter derives from the meaning of tama-fuyu (spirit winter) was also part of my theory.
In the distant ancient past, both the spring festival and the harvest festival had been rituals conducted from the eve through to the following morning.
In between them existed yet another—the winter festival.
The winter festival was a spirit pacification ceremony.
After performing purification for the houses and household heads, they bestowed blessings with auspicious incantations.
This incantation turned winter into young spring.
When spring came, they performed blessings and rehearsals for the village’s annual events, having the spirits demonstrate them.

As a sign that this purification had been completed, they decorated both the interior and exterior of their homes with mountain offerings brought by the mountain people and attached them to their persons.
The purified villagers would seclude themselves in homes that had become divine possessions.
This marks the origin of New Year decorations—mountain vines, fern leaves, mistletoe, wild yam roots, mountain indigo, hollyhock, Japanese torreya nuts, and mountain mulberry—all of which are considered mountain offerings.

V. Mountain People’s Staffs—The Origin of Mutsu-ki

Among the items brought by these mountain people, the most crucial element requiring consideration was the staff that accompanied them.
Though large enough to be a spear, the mountain people would leave this staff behind in the village as they departed.
By pounding the ground with this, they suppressed the land spirits.
Mutsu-ki and Uduki were likely terms related to such matters, I considered.

Mutsu was synonymous with *muchi-utsu*.
Mutsu, utsu, muchi, and uchi—all had shared the same meaning.
Various explanations had been given about *mutsuki*, but since these interpretations arose from lunar associations, they rendered the matter unclear—hence why terms like *kisaragi* and *yayoi* contained no *tsuki* [moon/month] element.
I believed these too were terms whose meanings remained unclear, but ultimately concluded that those older terms without *tsuki*—whose meanings were obscure—were more ancient. Even *mutsuki* likely originated as such a term; only later, with the inclusion of *tsuki*, did it come to be associated with lunar cycles and become established as a month name.
Originally, I maintained that Kisaragi, Yayoi, Shiwasu, and others similarly had not contained "tsuki."
It was considered that the initial instance of this 'tsuki' being attached likely began with terms such as *mutsuki*.

VI. Ground-Pounding Rituals—Uzue and Uzuchi (Ritual Staves and Mallets)

Among things associated with the New Year, there are what are called *uzue* and *uzuchi*, but I believe these were originally tools for pounding the ground.
This ritual is now also performed during the Small New Year, but originally, it was conducted on Gencho Day in the Eleventh Month—a ceremonial circuit to suppress the land spirits.
Later, as people came to believe that spirits lurked underground, they began imagining creatures like earthworms, but the wood used to strike them was deutzia.
It is said they called it deutzia—meaning "hollow tree"—because its core was empty, but I cannot confirm whether ancient deutzia truly had such characteristics.
In any case, there existed a tree called deutzia.
It transformed into what became known as *uzuchi* and *uzue*, I believe.

This ground-pounding ritual was not limited to year-end or early spring.
Even before the May rice planting, there had been a need to suppress the fields.
What had been performed in early spring was repeated once more to heighten its efficacy.
I believe that uzuki in April also carries the same meaning as mutsuki.
I believe that explanations found in works like Genkai must now be revised.

VII. Hana-ura - Whittled Chips and Whittled Flowers

The staffs brought by the mountain people generally carried such meanings; moreover, there was also significance in predicting the coming year's fortune through how their tips split or cracked.
Because they called this hana ("flower"), the concept later became fixed solely to botanical blossoms, though originally hana served to provisionally indicate forthcoming events.
There were instances where these staffs—roots still attached—were thrust into the ground.
They waited for the roots to take hold and spread.
Even rootless varieties like mulberry were trees whose roots readily established themselves.
In norito ritual prayers we find phrases like "like eight lush mulberry branches."
The legends of One-Night Bamboo and One-Night Pine originated from this practice.

In any case, the faith in these staffs had exerted a considerable influence on our country’s subsequent religious life.
As their forms gradually changed over time, there were those that became true staffs, others that became spears, some that turned into sacred stove wood, and still others that took forms like carved chips or whittled flowers—primarily featuring split tips. The most extremely shortened of these became the carved *uso* bullfinch figures.
The Uso-kae became established as a ritual at Tenmangu shrines, though there was no inherent reason for it to be related to Tenjin-sama.
In local regions, because people enshrined Tenjin-sama, I believe that connection came to be formed.

VIII. Customs Between the Mountains of Shinano, Tōtōmi, and Mikawa—Demon Trees and Nifu Trees

A type of this staff still remained in the Okumiya households of Shin, Tō, and San.
At the year’s end and on the eve of the Small New Year, they would erect firewood at house entrances and storehouse entrances—a practice referred to as both onigi and nifugi.
Though people now went to erect them themselves, they had not forgotten this act carried a meaning of blessing.

Onigi would be what we call demon trees.
The demons here, as I would discuss further on, were by no means evil demons or rakshasas.
They simply retained the ancient significance of being giants.
In these demon trees as well, one could fully sense the impression that mysterious giants descending from the mountains were thought to have brought them.

As for nifugi, if this term indeed originated from Nibu (or Mibu), being an extremely ancient word, I found it strange how these became connected—but nifu is a term related to purification (misogi), thus signifying a tree marking ritual cleansing. Though its status as an overly ancient word raised doubts, it seemed there was no other meaning beyond that.

In any case, the ancient faith that believed mysterious beings would descend from the mountains to leave staffs when year-end approaches persists in such forms.

In this manner, divine people who normally concealed themselves in mountain households and occasionally visited villages had existed in our country since ancient times; even after they became largely mythologized to the point where mountain people were considered supernatural beings, there still remained those who learned from them and descended the mountains year after year.
I consider this to be one reason why the Flower Festival persisted in Mikawa's remote mountains.
However, such traditions were likely not confined solely to Shitara's mountains.
While they probably existed elsewhere too, their particular preservation in Shitara alone can be attributed to the prosperity of patron households that they aided during the Sengoku period, which enabled them to maintain their protection.

However, the reason the Flower Festival has persisted to this day does not seem to be solely that.
There is another cause to be considered, and I believe it lies in relatively recent times.

Movements in the Early Modern Period

I. Influence of Ise Kagura

When I first witnessed the Flower Festival, I observed its proceedings solely with the scholarly interest I had described thus far and a kind of reverential feeling. Yet upon closer examination, traces of relatively early modern transformations could be discerned within it.
It appeared that the activities of those who spread the faith of Ise Grand Shrine had been incorporated into this.

There were a considerable number of people who traveled spreading this faith.
That performing art was kagura.
In kagura performances, as the lion appeared at the end to bring resolution, this gradually became central, and now even when one speaks of kagura, it has come to conjure images of lion masks; I believed there had likely been several transformations in this aspect as well.

The most recent form we were aware of was Daikagura.
This had become something nearly impossible to understand due to the accumulation of various associations, but I believed that in calling it Daikagura, there were meanings both of proxy pilgrimage and of what temple communities termed perpetual endowment.
In other words, they traveled through villages as a form of purification ritual so that instead of everyone having to go to Ise to undergo cleansing, they would come around and perform the misogi in their stead.
There existed a distinction between misogi and harae—misogi being inherently connected to water—but this differentiation had been forgotten long ago.
In any case, they would come around and perform misogi in that land instead of going to Ise.
They performed it in that land, and upon returning to Ise, they performed it there as well.
As evidence of this, they would take back clothes, hair, and various other things.
This also became their source of income.
Therefore, it was a mistake for Daikagura to be enshrined at shrines.
And it seemed they believed this merit would extend into perpetuity.
I thought Daikagura had likely been called Eitai Kagura (Perpetual Kagura).

Not limited to Ise, those who spread the faith of Kumano Shinmei Shrine also did so, but these were transmitted in various forms depending on the era.
From the Muromachi period through the Edo period, among those that gained prominence was the Ise Dance, which evolved into newer forms such as the *Ise Ondo*.

Whether the Ise Dance and *Kagura* were identical remained questionable, but Ise *Kagura* undoubtedly had several older forms besides the current Daikagura.
The year before last, during the Ise Pilgrimage Exhibition held at Mitsukoshi Department Store, there was a *Kagura* scroll, and I heard it contained an illustration of the *madoko ofusuma* ritual shroud.
In the end, I never saw it, but I imagine it was likely shaped like a ceremonial canopy that would completely conceal one's figure when hung.
That the *mato koso fusuma* shrouds resembled quilts dated back to extreme antiquity; in later periods they took such forms.
As for when this was incorporated into Ise *Kagura*, I could not even begin to imagine.
Moreover, such elements did not appear in later *Kagura*, but there was indeed an era when they existed.
Traces suggesting this could be found within the *Kagura* passed down in Shitara's mountain depths.

II. The Importer of Shitara Kagura

It was through Mr. Hayakawa’s research that this became clear: here there had originally existed a kagura spanning three days and three nights, and thus the current Flower Festival is said to constitute a part of it.
Regarding kagura, written records gradually began to appear thereafter, so while it remains unclear during which era they were incorporated, one can at least state that it is older than any other kagura currently preserved among the people.
However, the assertion that the current Flower Festival forms merely a portion of this is problematic—whether kagura originally included this when entering Mikawa, whether this event preexisted in mountain regions and later became linked to kagura, whether the three-day-and-night ritual being shortened to a single night means only its essential parts are performed—these matters resist easy resolution. For now, I regard these two interpretations as belonging to distinct categories.

In any case, what we knew must have been a Kagura from several generations prior to the current Daikagura. There was a person who carried this into these mountainous regions. In this region too, villages vaguely imagined that figure and passed down [the tradition], referring to them as Mirume-sama—though some villages transmit that Mirume-sama was not such an ancient figure. I myself have seen this: in the garden of the Kagura manor in Sakauoba (Furukusa Village), there lies what is called the grave of that Mirume-sama. Moreover, in Sogawa (Kamikurokawa, Misawa Village), an unusual legend exists stating that those who brought this were two individuals described as yamabushi. I have also seen what is called the site of that manor. The reason this came to be transmitted as involving two people is, I believe, that through Kagura and the Flower Festival there exist what are called Prince Mirume and Prince Kirume—from which [the notion of] two individuals emerged. Of course, I cannot believe such a thing. If there was an influential person in a certain era, houses and graves could naturally be established through posthumous suppositions. Yet even when examining this legend, one can imagine that its introduction did not belong to such a distant past.

Ultimately, it seems best to consider that within the process of the mountain people's profession being inherited through multiple successions of individuals over time, Ise Kagura finally entered in the last phase, thereby becoming syncretized with the pre-existing Flower Festival.
Whether they had learned this themselves, or whether there was someone else who brought it in, or when exactly this introduction occurred—these things are, I believe, no longer possible to determine. However, generally speaking, Ise Kagura is not something of such great antiquity.
This is because it should not have originated in Ise, and when compared to Kagura traditions like those of Hachiman, it can be said to be fairly recent.
The era when this was introduced is probably not that old either.
And according to legend, one can only conclude that there seem to have been elements brought in from elsewhere.

III. The Ritual of Entering Objects

Within this Kagura, what first demands our attention is that what corresponds to Ise Kagura's mystical shrouds is here referred to as Hakusan.
There existed a ritual where one would enter this and be reborn.

Though this rationale may have been appended later, they maintained that when something was born, all adornments had to be rendered pure white for the birth to occur.
As far as our research can trace, birthing chambers were indeed pure white.
On Hassaku, women would don unblemished white robes.
This custom later persisted solely among courtesans, though it appears all women participating in sacred rites originally observed it.
This constituted a purification marker preceding the coming-of-age ceremony—a ritual of being reborn as a woman—where they became swathed in immaculate white, much like the whitened birthing chambers.

When one speaks of Hakusan, the Hakusan of Koshi immediately comes to mind.
Why that mountain came to be called Hakusan remains unclear.
It may have been due to accumulated snow.
Or perhaps because it was white.
Whether one considers three or four etymologies simultaneously or explains it through a single origin—this I believe marks a turning point for future scholarship.
In any case, there must have been some reason for naming this mountain Hakusan, but one association lies in the fact that Kukurihime was enshrined there (as recorded in the Ichinomiya-ki).
This deity had appeared at Yomotsu Hirasaka and manifested before Izanagi-no-Mikoto performed his purification rites.
Considering this, Kukurihime appears to have been a deity who conducted ablutions and encouraged purification.
Whether the deity enshrined in Hakusan was truly Kukurihime remains uncertain; however, might it not be that this divinity became Hakusan's god through associations with rebirth connected to the white mountain?

Within the lives of yamabushi, there existed a practice known as stone confinement.
This piling was no mere stacking.
Because formations heaped high by waves along coasts were called kizumi (wooden piling), ishikozume meant being packed into stones.
This later gave rise to legends like Kasuga’s Thirteen Mounds—a phenomenon I attribute to such rituals having existed within yamabushi life.
Nor should this be simplistically considered some form of ascetics’ vigilante justice.
The earliest form appears to have been conducted as a resurrection ritual to fasten souls to bodies.

What comes to mind here is the Noh play "Tani Ko". I believe there is meaning in reading this as 'tani kou,' but I shall refrain from discussing that matter for now. However, I shall simply note that interpreting this as discarding deceased mountain ascetics into valleys actually stems from conceptions found in Noh plays, and that greater attention should rather be paid to Matsuwaka's subsequent resurrection. In short, just as with the mystical shrouds of Ise Kagura, they would enter into an object and await the time when the soul would fully adhere to the body; but since one cannot enter into stone, I believe they piled stones and entered within that constructed space instead.

IV. The Meaning of Rebirth Purification

Just recently, I heard from Mr. Hozumi Tadashi and found it quite intriguing—it appears the custom of bon-gama still persists along the coast of Izu.
The term "bon-gama" refers to a customary practice where girls underwent purification seclusion before receiving their coming-of-age ceremony, and it also forms the origin of children's role-playing—but here, they apparently create two hearths, one large and one small, placing the smaller one outside the house.
A similar custom exists for boys as well.
In Tohoku, there is a custom called kamakura where during Small New Year, they create snow caves and hold festivals for the guardian deity.

How far back can the term "kama" be traced? While it is said that kamado [hearths] derive from "hanging a kama [pot]," I found this explanation insufficient. Caves are referred to as kama or gama. Though gama often denoted waterfront caves, I did not believe this usage was strictly confined to such locations. Wouldn't there also have been a custom of sealing something inside a cave and retrieving it when a certain time arrived? Bon-gama practices appeared to have dual significances: communal meal-sharing and ritual seclusion. Regarding Mr. Hozumi's account of constructing two hearths, I hypothesized the larger one served as a confinement space while the smaller functioned as a cooking hearth. The kama of hearths and caves might have originally been identical. However, kamado, kudo, and hodo all seemed to differ gradually. Ultimately, since emerging from the confinement space symbolized revival, I concluded that entering a cave or an artificial mountain constituted equivalent acts.

This mountain later transformed even into Dōjō-ji’s bell, but when considered in this way, the matter of Shitara Kagura’s White Mountain appeared to become somewhat clearer. As the mystical shrouds took the form of a canopy, in Kagura they called the central ritual of entering these [shrouds] "umare kiyomari". Kiyomari (purification) had referred to the act of purifying through ritual seclusion, but considering that rebirth emerged from associations with Hakusan (White Mountain), might it not be that they came to append "umare" (rebirth) to the term? This ritual completely vanished sixty to seventy years ago, but in essence, I believe the central ritual of Shitara Kagura was umare kiyomari—that is, the act of purification. When viewed this way, the ritual’s meaning became clear—essentially making it equivalent to later Kagura traditions.

The Main Issues of Flower Festival Practices

I. Those Who Conduct the Flower Festival - Shinto Ritualists, Yamabushi Ascetics, and Itinerant Monks

Now as we entered into discussion of the Flower Festival proper, upon examining currently practiced forms, there existed locations conducting purely the Flower Festival alone, those combining it with Dengaku field music performances, and others incorporating somewhat more secularized performing arts.

The primary individuals who conducted the Flower Festival were called "Hana-negi."
A negi refers to a Shinto ritualist, though there were also villages where former yamabushi performed this role.
There existed those who served as mountain ascetics while simultaneously paying fees to Kyoto's Tsuchimikado family to become onmyōji.
Such qualifications had been necessary to conduct the Flower Festival.

As for yamabushi practitioners, they were not termed "Flower Yamabushi," but when they formed the ritual's core, it was called either "Yamabushi Flower" or "Dharma Seal Flower," while those centered on negi ritualists were termed "Negi Flower."
This classification was of course not precise.
Only a vague tradition from antiquity remained, and even historically, the treatment from the Tsuchimikado family had been uniform.

However, here we find one element that appears to differ.
It appears there existed a sort of subservient religious practitioner affiliated with the Myōshinji school of Kyōto's Hanazono—individuals akin to itinerant Pure Land monks, or what in Zen Buddhism are called ascetic practitioners—who conducted [the rituals].
The details remain unclear, but in the place called Kurokura, since only those who perform dengaku reside there, dengaku has become the main event—though they also conduct the Flower Festival.
When observing the state of this village, there seem to be aspects resembling practitioners affiliated with Myōshinji, so it may have had connections to both Myōshinji and the Tsuchimikado family.
I would like to go to Myōshinji once to investigate this matter.
In short, as long as they were qualified religious practitioners—not limited to Shinto ritualists or mountain ascetics—they must have been able to perform even unconventional rituals.

The people who performed this resided in hamlets that could be called minor subdivisions within villages, while all others participated as recipients.
Everywhere, communities possessing such performing arts typically occupied village peripheries; having received special treatment elsewhere, these groups came to be regarded as distinct hamlets in some regions. Fortunately here in Mikawa, such perceptions did not take root—instead they were frequently requested by completely unrelated villages for performances, particularly those situated near flatland areas.
For instance, Flower Festivals incorporating Dengaku field music from Furuto and Kobayashi appear to have been regularly invited across both southern and northern Shitara.

II: Location of Performance – Shrines and Private Homes

The first thing that must be stated is that this was previously conducted during Shimotsuki. As I have previously noted, in ancient times Shimotsuki marked the year's end and its extreme culmination being Shiwasu. During that period when November and December were not yet distinguished as separate months, even after calendars were established and Shiwasu came into being as a distinct month, people continued conducting in Shimotsuki those rituals that might naturally seem suited to Shiwasu—yet they perceived no inconvenience in this practice. This was because as time passed, they gradually lost their tangible sense of it. And thus it became a blessing for the following year. With the advent of the Meiji era, it came to be conducted during New Year by happenstance—a shift that ultimately proved appropriate despite its accidental nature.

The location where this ritual was performed differed depending on the village.
There were places that conducted it within shrine precincts and others that annually rotated through households.
I believed conducting it in households represented the older form, though I could not state this definitively.
There also existed forms considered rather ancient that were conducted at shrines.

I wished to refrain from definitive pronouncements for the time being, but I thought shrine-based performances had begun when the notion of following established shrine customs emerged.
Even Kagura had not necessarily been performed at shrines.
The idea that sacred affairs should be conducted at shrines was a matter of common sense.
In any case, there being two patterns of locations did not appear to correspond to distinctions between Negi Flower and Dharma Seal Flower practices.

When conducted in homes nowadays, they typically removed just the doors, but in former times would take down all walls and interior panels as well, leaving the structure completely open to the elements. This house was called a "dancing hall," its earthen-floored entrance area termed a "dancing ground" (also written as 舞戸 or 舞土) and designated as the space for performing dances. A kettle was placed at its center—though elaborate prescribed methods for positioning this kettle existed, these had been arbitrarily devised by Onmyōdō practitioners. A lid—that is, a canopy—was suspended over the kettle, from which paper ropes stretched out in four directions. One of these ropes was called Shinto, connecting to the Brahma deity before the kan-za.

I will not elaborate on how houses were arranged.
When one stepped over the raised threshold, that space became an entrance area; beyond lay an inner tatami room serving as a demon chamber—though it might also function as a storage shed—where dance performers prepared.
This entrance area was called kan-za and served as seating for musicians.
The term “kan-za” does not appear interpretable within Mikawa dialect.
It seems neither an upper seat nor a divine seat.
As it does not seem particularly ancient, it may have been introduced through Kagura or similar traditions.
Nowadays flutists and drummers along with village leaders sat there, but formerly this was likely where patrons waited.

The acts performed at the dancing ground had to have their power reach the entire village.
This constituted the spirit of the Flower Festival while conveying the essence of Japan's unique performing arts.
As even Sanbasō dances were stomped for local prosperity—since circulating through the entire village proved impossible—they were performed at its central location.
Therefore, to ensure their power reached the entire village—indeed the entire land—they removed both walls and interior panels, leaving [the structure] completely open to the elements.

III: Central Rituals – Ritual Stomping, Flower Rituals, and Narrative Recitations

There were various elements that formed the core of the Flower Festival.
While this complexity was thought to have emerged through syncretism with Kagura sacred dances, observation of current practices revealed that Ritual Stomping stood at its very center.
In Mikawa it was called Henbe—though long conducted through Onmyōdō's elaborate protocols—whose true essence lay not in esoteric practices but in what should have been performed by the household master.
Specifically conceived as a departure ritual extending from emperors through nobles and warlords alike, it had properly been their respective masters who should have performed it.
In later eras when masters made appearances, retainers would shout ritual calls while stomping with forceful steps.
This served as advance notice for evil spirits to flee before noble passage.
The powerful stomping became incorporated into Onmyōdō practice while its accompanying shouts evolved into keihitsu—the imperial procession calls.

This remains a hypothesis, but it appears the keihitsu calls differed among households. I believe these came to serve as names for noble personages as well. The Nihon Shoki records "Amaoshikami comes," and while the 'a' and 'wa' syllabic rows may seem distant, I have considered whether their relationship might actually have been more intricate. I posit that the Oshi of Amaoshikami was perhaps a deity who came chanting "woshi woshi"—or rather, was woshi itself. In the Heian period, the emperor's forerunners would chant "woshi woshi." Regarding these kana discrepancies, I believe we must conduct further phonological research—through these keihitsu calls, they likely discerned who was approaching. Thus they drove away evil spirits. There must have been various methods of performing Ritual Stomping. Though several types remain today, many appear arbitrarily devised by Onmyōji practitioners, making them unsuitable for scholarly consideration.

In the Flower Festival, it was primarily the demons who performed this Ritual Stomping.
As this had become one central ritual, another was what we might provisionally call Flower Rituals (including elements termed flower chants, flower declarations, and flower dances).
These two had formed the core rituals, with other elements accompanying them.
By recounting the histories of those who performed these acts, one simultaneously elucidated the rituals' origins.
These three aspects were considered the principal elements of the Flower Festival.
While Ritual Stomping alone now appears central, there was likely an era when narrative recitations flourished.

IV: Flower Rituals – Flower Pacification and Flower Cultivation

The 'flower' of the Flower Festival, I believe, originated from the flower rituals.
The term 'flower' referred to a kind of precursor that heralded coming fruition.
Tree flowers and grass flowers were but a part of this; all things that heralded fruition might be called 'flower'.
Therefore, whether flowers formed or not became a significant precursor indicating the maturity or immaturity of grains.
Simultaneously, this flower was also related to coming-of-age rituals; however, this aspect had been nearly forgotten, and nowadays it seemed only its connection to grains was considered.
As for the coming-of-age rituals, I believe they became forgotten alongside Kagura's decline because they had been central events within Kagura.

In ancient Japanese beliefs regarding flowers, two aspects were considered: the beginning and the end.
Cultivating them, making good flowers bloom, and not letting them scatter in vain—these were matters of utmost importance.
If spring flowers scattered early, they viewed it as an omen of poor rice harvests and, by analogy to human affairs, considered it a precursor to epidemic outbreaks—thus they sought to prevent the flowers from scattering as much as possible.
This marked the origin of the Chinka-sai (Flower Pacification Festival), which grew increasingly prevalent from the early Heian period though it already existed during the Nara period.
However, since they enshrine a deity not found in either the Heian or Nara periods, it likely dates from before those times.
The "pacification" in Flower Pacification (yasurai-hana no yasurai) means instructing the flowers to scatter freely—waiting for their falling petals to settle.

In the Chinka-sai (Flower Pacification Festival), this point held considerable importance; however, Mikawa's Flower Festival did not appear to be deeply connected in this regard.
If this relationship had existed, I believe it would have needed to be more closely connected to Dengaku.

In Mikawa's Flower Festival, as flower cultivation had become central, it simultaneously served as a form of flower divination.
This ritual existed within Ennen dances among old performing arts.
After the dew sweeper made their entrance, those called sacred flower children emerged holding flower branches to dance; in Mikawa too, this ritual was usually performed by children.
Therefore, the Flower Festival was not identical to the Ennen dance.
While they had been conducted in parallel, one developed and then ceased, while the other simply continued unchanged.
In any case, it appeared that the flower cultivation ritual had become something performed by children, though perhaps that had originally been done by youths.

In Japan, they conducted two coming-of-age rituals repeatedly: one from infancy to childhood—the hakamagi ceremony of donning fundoshi loincloths—and another from childhood to youth—the genpuku ceremony—comprising both full and quasi-coming-of-age rituals; therefore, I believed the dancing of the sacred flower children took form in this dual structure.
In that case, this would create a duplication with Hakusan's rituals—but they likely carried out such overlaps without hesitation.

However, I thought one must not speak carelessly to country folk.
When I had gone to observe the Flower Festival in Kamikurokawa the year before last and was asked by the shrine priest there about the festival’s flowers, I explained that since the flowers predicted the following year’s grain blossoms, flower cultivation must be central to it. Then when I visited again, he said, “What you said seems indeed correct.”
“When I looked into it, I found rice ears attached to the sacred children’s flower staffs,” he said, and I was astonished when he had promptly crafted such items and brought them.
“If rice ears were attached, it would render them meaningless.”

In this manner, as flower divination had grown to hold such significance, there existed chants specifically for it.
That later differentiated, giving rise to numerous forms such as flower chants (or solemn invocations, liturgical recitations, etc.).

V. Demons—Yamami-ki・Sakaki-ki・Asa-ki

I believe the core of the Flower Festival undeniably lay in flower cultivation, yet simultaneously, as it was a winter festival, they incorporated the impression of mountain people descending from the peaks to bestow blessings. The demons’ dances embodied this concept.

I had previously discussed how mountain people came to be perceived as demons and tengu. In later eras, when people thought of demons, they came to be considered only in their dark aspects; however, in the Flower Festival’s demons, one can fully perceive the bright impression of those who come to bestow blessings.

Demons had multiple opportunities to visit the village.
Outside of year-end and New Year celebrations, they also appeared during the May rice planting season.
The developed form of this became the dengaku demons, and in dengaku performances, tengu also came to hold significant importance.
In dengaku particularly, there exists a renowned performance genre called the "Four Demons," but I believe these four demons hold significant meaning.
In the Flower Festival as well, four demons appeared.
They are called Four Demons or Morning Demons, but I believe they likely originated as a single entity that became two, then four, and later multiplied without restriction.

A single demon was called Yamamiki. While the exact meaning of the term remains unclear, people in this region seemed to regard it as an entity that circulated around viewing the mountain's form while offering praise.

There existed a role that conducted dialogues with this Yamamiki. To converse with demons—or gods—human language proved inadequate, necessitating a mediator's function. Holding sacred grasses served as a mark of divine beings capable of interpreting divine words; this same significance applied when shrine maidens carried sakaki branches or bamboo grass.

Within the Flower Festival exists what is called the Sakaki Demon. In current practice, when this demon appears, another participant emerges to strike people's backs with sakaki branches. This figure likely came to be called the Sakaki Demon because—I believe—it originally served as a mediator who conversed with the Yamamiki while holding sakaki branches, its ability to interpret demonic speech eventually causing its own classification among demons.

Of course, this remains merely my hypothesis, but through it we may roughly discern how demons came to be counted as two entities.

In the Flower Festival, these two demons had become crucial elements.
Among them, the most essential was the Mountain-Viewing Demon.
This demon would perform ritual stomping as a sign of its spirit-pacifying visitation, and they believed its power would extend throughout the entire village.

All such demons were accompanied by their retinues when they came.
These were the child demons; though they have now multiplied innumerably, I believe there were originally four.

The Morning Demons (Four Demons) would have shown the form of their withdrawal.
In former times, morning was declared when the first rooster crowed, at which point the demons had to withdraw. However, as people gradually came to consider sunrise in their conception of morning—resulting in a dual understanding of daybreak—they grew insistent that the festival must conclude before sunlight touched the demons' mouths.
In essence, since demons belong to the other world—where night reigns supreme—they must withdraw when the first rooster crows at dawn; it was from this belief that they must not remain that people came to drive them away.
From this emerged the concept of demon exorcism; particularly in Izumo-style kagura, all demons became villains—however, the Flower Festival’s demons never exhibit such traits.

VI. Negi and Okina—The Mystery of Masks

This relates to the storytelling I mentioned earlier，but the shrine priest came out to perform the narration.
In this there were two instances：appearing simply as a Negi and transforming into an Okina to reappear once more.
They emerged carrying a ritual wand called hīna and recounted their origins after journeying from afar—a practice I believe relates to kagura.
In other words，since the shrine priest came to perform purification rites—what they called 'nakatebarai'—I believe this refers to the Nakatomi purification.

In some regions, this was also called Kaidō Kudari.
The genre known as Kaidō Kudari emerged in Japanese performing arts during the Kamakura period; however, this form had existed since ancient times, originating from hardship narratives where gods arriving from distant lands recounted events along their journey—the most developed manifestation being the Kaidō Kudari of banquet songs.
In other words, it constituted a travel narrative style recounting journeys from the capital to provincial regions.

However, Okina reappeared to perform this narrative once more.
Appearing as the Kuroshiki Old Man, he recounted his upbringing from childhood days, shared his mother’s reminiscences, exaggerated his own ugliness to provoke laughter, and narrated events including his failed marriage attempt and incidents along his journey to Kyoto.
Okina and Negi formed two sides of the same entity; I believe one conducted purification rites while the other narrated origins.
This Okina and Negi underwent division, giving rise to various elements.
From Okina emerged old women figures, while from Negi emerged shrine maidens.
There exist places where shrine maidens are called Amaterasu Kōtaijingū—a phenomenon I believe arose from how masks’ sacred aura inspired people to envision such deities.
Masks without exception were deeply revered as sacred objects; donning them appeared to induce a mystical state of mind.
And then through this process, they seem to have gradually transformed into gods.

Among masks, what particularly demanded attention was that the Okina mask had a severed chin. The document transcribed in Niino described the masks as lacking chins, but this severed chin served as a mark indicating speech capability. In performing arts where masks were worn, performers were not supposed to emit sound—precisely why only the Okina mask bore this severed chin.

What particularly demanded attention regarding masks was that shrine maiden masks and elderly noblewoman masks had eye holes nearly too small to see through. In ancient times there appear to have been two types—large and small—but regardless, Japanese performing arts curiously developed works featuring blind protagonists. This existed in both Sarugaku and Dengaku; however, I believe this likely originated from masks.

Moreover, among the Flower Festival masks, those that had become most crucial were the two called Hinō and Mizunō. These were not originally two separate entities from the beginning; rather, they might have been created later as contrasting counterparts, though their forms varied significantly depending on the region. Hinō could manifest as a male figure here, appear as a red elder there, or take the form of a tengu elsewhere, while Mizunō might be depicted as a white elder in one place or as Uzume in another.

Everywhere they referred to this pairing as shizume-sama. When the Kagura reached its conclusion, participants would don these yin-yang masks, emerge once more, and perform the final dance. It seemed likely that shizume had originated from this practice—a term probably transmitted through Kagura traditions itself. Yet some interpreters linked them to the two princes Mimume and Kirume, regarding them as historical figures, while others strove to identify Hinō with Sarutahiko and Mizunō with Uzume. Nevertheless, I maintained they had originally constituted a single entity. The very term "shizume," I suspected, was relatively modern in origin.

VII. Counterparts—Okina is Negi's Counterpart

When Okina, Negi, shrine maidens, and others appeared, numerous counterparts emerged following them. In the Flower Festival, counterparts had become crucial elements; there were formal ones and playful ones, but for Okina, formal counterparts appeared. The true form was to elaborate on what Okina said, but nowadays, they either recited in unison or brought out books to read. The term modoki—though its sense of opposition might be ancient—came to signify "the counterpart party" in medieval performing arts. Additionally, since they carried meanings such as interpreting and mimicking, they became Okina’s interpreters—though at times they might employ different words or actions.

In my view, Negi constituted the origin while Okina served as its counterpart.
In Mikawa persisted the notion of regarding Okina as sarugaku.
When observing Dengaku at Houraiji Temple for instance, they called Okina sarugaku and had it mimic prior performances.
The capital's performing arts made Okina their foundation because sarugaku performers who centered on Okina had prospered.
Yet Japanese performing arts during one period accumulated repeated reperformances.
Here too this could be observed: Negi's counterpart became Okina, Okina acquired his own counterpart, and furthermore one wearing a Hiyottoko mask—itself a reperformance of that—ran amok.
Hiyottoko masks exist in Kantō's satokagura folk kagura too, but here they functioned as counterparts in opposition—those bearing negative connotations.

In short, while Okina’s narration has become an important element within the current Flower Festival, it should be regarded as a secondary component of this ritual—one that likely entered later. Fundamentally, three elements overlap: the narrative of Negi priests performing Nakatomi purification rites while traveling through provinces to promote Kagura; the Eleventh Month ritual where demons descend from mountains to perform counter-steps; and additionally, the flower-cultivation ceremony. Therefore, I consider it permissible to regard Okina's role as comparatively minor.

Even when examining the *Shinsarugakuki* of the Heian period, such a variety of elements had been incorporated that it became unclear how many distinct performance types existed or which one held central importance. By their very nature, folk arts possess such characteristics; they absorb all elements and continue to expand. In the Flower Festival as well, various elements were incorporated to the point where it became nearly impossible to discern which one was central, yet there must originally have been a single core element without doubt. However, I believe that even when people of old incorporated various elements later on, they were connected not merely because they were interesting but due to some fundamental relationship. Precisely because of this, it became all the more indiscernible.

Even so, what stood out relatively clearly and was frequently observed in the Flower Festival were its connections to Dengaku and Kagura—these three being intricately intertwined.
When we gathered the performing arts preserved in the mountain recesses of Shinano, Tōtōmi, and Mikawa—these three provinces—we found that what were called Dengaku, the Flower Festival, and Kagura were each in part interconnected, with clear traces of their interactions evident among them.

Comparison with Ennen Dances

I. Sacred Children, Stage, and Mountain: Their Similarities

As I had briefly touched upon earlier, when seeking medieval-era performing arts closely resembling this Flower Festival, Ennen dances came first to mind. The foremost authority on Ennen dance studies was undoubtedly Dr. Takano Hansan. Through his work, understanding in this field became greatly clarified.

Ennen dances, I believe it is reasonable to view them as having flourished primarily toward the end of the Heian period.
And as for what forms the core element here—though I believe I have already sufficiently implied this in my discussion of the Flower Festival—it remains fundamentally centered on sacred children prior to their adult initiation.
In contrast to this, there exists a group called wandering monks.
This can be considered a form in which temple practitioners conducted the relationship between young men and youths as seen in villages.
When this grouping grows complex, a Dengaku-like form encompassing both women and elderly individuals becomes discernible, and further expansion occurs as well.

In Ennen dances, sacred children first appeared holding up flower staffs.
The stage structure appeared distinctly differentiated from Izumiden-style stages that would develop significantly in later periods.
This most closely corresponds to what would etymologically be termed a 'play'.
Though stage construction methods varied across eras, one could state that regardless of how late the period became, they used the ground as their stage by laying down matting and referred to this as 'play'.

Not only that, but outside the stage, a separate constructed platform referred to as a "mountain" had been set up. In later times, this appears to have been placed on both sides for reciting Shinmetorii, but I consider that initially, this was a single entity. What should be called the greenroom existed behind the stage, separated by the performers' path—that is, a bridgeway—and it appears that people such as musicians, singers, and stage attendants were stationed around what might be termed the "flower path."

This structure differed from both Noh stages and Kabuki stages, with Ennen dances serving as one typical example.
However, upon careful consideration, it seemed appropriate to state that the stages of ancient performing arts had maintained and evolved forms predating the Izumiden-style stage.

In our terminology, we established a hierarchical standard dividing performing arts into three categories: gateway arts, garden arts, and Izumiden arts—but this constituted at least one ancient form of garden arts.

As for comparisons with Ennen dances, there were insufficient materials to conduct detailed analysis, nor did we possess capacity to venture into such methodological crossroads; therefore I extracted only essential elements for comparison with the Flower Festival.

However, it would prove troublesome should this be construed directly as an attempt to derive the Flower Festival's origins from Ennen dances.

II. Characteristics of the Flower Festival Stage

First and foremost, the stage of the Flower Festival was a garden. Whether it was a shrine’s garden, a household’s garden, or what appeared to have been an open outdoor space—in any case, it was not a parlor performance. Moreover, it did not involve performing from the outside toward the inside of the space. I considered that the garden where the ritual was performed signified the land, village, township, and manor centered around that house and household. Moreover, its entire perimeter served as the spectators’ viewing area, and at times, it even came to pass that spectators encroached upon the stage itself.

As Ennen records did not document chaotic village festivals like the Flower Festival, they were recorded and depicted in a manner that made people easily consider the relationship between spectators and stage as something with clearly demarcated boundaries.
However, given the nature of such stages, this intermingling of performers and spectators could be considered to have been conducted prior to the later installation of thin wooden flooring or platforms resembling Noh-style performance areas.

Moreover, how would it have been if festivals of a similar style had been conducted in ancient villages?
The fact that Nakamichi passes through where the musicians and performers are stationed has now become a distinctive feature of the Flower Festival, but even Kabuki theater once exhibited a form that may have resembled this.
This refers to what was called rakandai seating—where spectators were stationed at a higher position behind the stage than the performers—but unless we investigate the origins of rakandai itself, we cannot hastily equate it with how spectators now encroach upon the kanza seating area in today’s Flower Festival.
It could only be said that the structural configuration of Ennen dances bore resemblance to the kanza of the Flower Festival.
And this kanza was, so to speak, positioned as the audience hall from which to view the stage performances.
There appears to be a notion that those stationed there were the patrons who enabled the festival’s execution—that is, the donors, along with their invited guests and clan members.
In that case, the garden arts took the form of what the invited performers did.

However, upon analyzing another consideration contained within this framework, it appeared that those stationed in the kanza were regarded as sacred individuals of the same kind as those who emerged onto the stage to dance and perform.

The fact that the greenroom was positioned behind it was also something invariably seen in today's Flower Festival, and we could perceive this as a form where part of the kanza had been enclosed to create a particularly sacred secret chamber.

III. The Mountain of Ennen Dances

Moreover, another crucial element—the mountain in Ennen Dances—was undoubtedly erected with the same significance as the marker mountains employed in the Daijōsai and other ancient rituals. However, it can be surmised from early times that these ancient marker mountains, during their era as pure "marker peaks" when they were considered sacred mountains where deities resided, gradually transformed to encompass additional meanings within their original concept.

One can consider that this [concept] came to encompass the idea that within these mountains designated as sacred entities, individuals likewise destined to become sacred beings would undergo mountain seclusion.

At marker mountains, they would erect a doll that transformed into a human dancer and then into a dance vehicle, while in Ennen Dances and similar traditions, cross-dressed sacred children appear to have been stationed atop constructed mountains.

In any case, it must be stated that unless they erected a mountain, Ennen dances could not assume their complete form.
This mountain persists with remarkable tenacity in parade arts, but within stage arts, what remains—whether called vestiges or considered an entirely different entity—exists solely in Kabuki theater.
Namely, this constitutes what Dr. Takano refers to as the mountain platform.

Why did they erect mountains at stage peripheries?
Of course, this formed part of welcoming ceremonies for deities performing ritual arts.
However, from early times another meaning I previously mentioned became attached—it developed significance as a stationing place for those maintaining ascetic purification through mountain seclusion when deities emerged to perform their arts.
This conversely enables us to explain the sparsely documented mountains of Ennen dances through perspectives from the Flower Festival.
That mountain represents the ritual mountain of kagura deeply connected to the Flower Festival.

In today’s Flower Festival, they no longer perform the ritual of erecting this mountain—a lapse that must be acknowledged as a rather significant act of forgetting.
Probably this mountain became compounded and incorporated into what was termed the ritual bonfire within the Flower Festival.
Therefore, mountain-viewing demons emerged to perform both the mountain-splitting ritual and acts of scattering flames from this bonfire.

IV. The White Mountain of Kagura

The most crucial point to note in the Flower Festival was that if the Kagura had been revised, then undoubtedly the Shugendō methods served as its model.
Therefore, combining the mountain erected at the periphery of the dance area with the yamabushi’s ritual bonfire became not an unreasonable practice.
And because this was often conducted at homes, they made the ritual bonfire as small as possible—with the result that it had in reality become a bonfire that could hardly be called a ritual bonfire.

What were considered major events in Kagura were the mountain-related rituals, which were generally conducted immediately following the Three Dances and Four Dances performed by the young men.
Even when examining the six types of Kagura procedure manuals—those attributed to the Tenshō, Shōtoku, and Keichō eras onward—they generally appeared to conduct rituals employing metaphors of a child’s birth, ranging from the erection of purification mountains for newborn rites to instructions about establishing mountains, enshrining mountains, seeking mountains, and even buying and selling mountains.

And this ritual was collectively referred to as ubare-kiyomari (birth purification rites).
Of course, it seems acceptable to consider that an ancient term—which had been employed even in folk Shinto practices such as yumahari and kiyomahari—became shaped into forms like ubare-kiyomari through direct association with its usage.

And those who perform this ritual are the mountain-splitting demons, constituting the most significant divine role within the Flower Festival.
However, in the Flower Festival, as they ceased to primarily focus on splitting mountains, it seems reasonable to view that the name "mountain-viewing demons" became common from the perspective of seeking mountains.

Conclusion

In the deepest reaches of Shitara, at a place called Sonobe in Misono Village, there flowed a river named Ōnui-gawa, and upon the mountains above this river stood a remote hamlet called Ōnui with merely two houses.
This place was called Hanayama and was said to be where Hanazono-in once visited, but of course that must have been false.
However, people claimed this place to be the origin of the Flower Festival, and it appeared to have become one of its bases.
At present, Yamauchi in Toyone Village’s Misawa and Furuto in Furukusa Village served as central locations, but it could also be observed that they had gradually descended closer to settlements.
There were those who said that even Yamauchi’s Flower Festival had been revised by an influential figure a generation ago, after examining various regional festivals.
They may have been speaking out of jealousy, but I do not think Furuto and Yamauchi were the originators either.
In other words, since various villages were all imitating one another, we must consider an even older state of affairs.

In essence, deep in Mikawa’s mountains, it was not merely the Flower Festival that had existed from the very beginning. I believed there had existed a type of itinerant religious practitioners who performed various ritual arts, and that they would periodically descend to the villages to bestow blessings, incorporating performances tailored to each locale’s customs. The villages hosting the Flower Festival probably had not been so numerous in the beginning. The term “remote areas” itself—I believed that what had initially been close to villages gradually retreated deeper into the mountains as settlements expanded. What had to be considered was that when there were high mountains and sacred peaks, they would enter into them. This had always been a fixed destination in their travels.

At present, we cannot determine this at all, but Ōnui may perhaps be an old village.
In Mikawa, it lay at the deepest recess—so remote in the mountains that one might almost call it Enshū territory—and beyond those mountains lay water.
This was something demanding serious consideration, for the concept of coming to purify oneself with waters from mountain ponds and waterfalls had become a vital element in Japanese religion.
As I had previously noted regarding the geographical factors behind why a group of wandering ritualists settled deep in Mikawa’s mountains during some era, descending Sakaiyama brought one to the flow of the Tenryū River.
I believe this water was essential to their lives.

If we grant that the Flower Festival was ancient, then it appeared we had to establish its foundations in the mountains towering to the east.
From that perspective, it seemed the center had gradually descended closer to settlements through Yamauchi, Kobayashi, and Furuto.