Japan's 72 Microseasons - #13+
Swallows and other symbolic songbirds
April 4 - 8
玄鳥至
つばめ きたる
Tsubame kitaru
“Swallows settle in"
(This is the second post about this microseason—if you missed the first one, you can read it here)
At the end of this microseason, on April 8th, a large part of the modern world spent part of their day watching the skies. Looking up from whatever they were doing, hundreds of thousands of people waited for a force of nature to play out, far, far away from anything they could ever touch or effect. Even in the modern world, a solar eclipse is a moment of natural magic.
I find it heartening that something like an eclipse can still move us—or maybe more accurately: stop us in our tracks. Despite knowing, through school and media and the internet, what an eclipse is and how it works, we still can’t help but be amazed by this and other natural phenomenon. It’s enough that the very sight of it is magical, even if the cause is not.
What does all this have to do with birds, you might ask? They, too, have historically been bringers of messages and portents from a realm beyond our reach. And they, too, still carry a bit of wonder to us even though we think we’ve long since learned their secrets.
The last time we talked about this microseason, we covered some myths around the comings and goings of swallows, but also somewhat dismissed their otherworldly home and habits with the more mundane explanation of migration. So I thought that instead it might be fun to talk about other birds of myth and legend, ones without scientific explanation. Whether or not they exist isn’t so important as what they reflect: a longstanding respect for—and in some cases fear of—the natural world and its non-human inhabitants.
A young family of swallows may be welcome to roost in your home, but what about these feathered friends?
Aosagibi (青鷺火)
The Aosagibi is said to resemble a heron (sagi, サギ) but with the notable difference of being able to emit a bright bluish-white light. In the ancient capital of Nara, it was said that on rainy nights, blue sparks could be seen flitting between the dark boughs of the forest. Even on the remote island of Sado, halfway across the country, legend told of a hunter who shot down a mysterious blue flame approaching from the sea, finding the creature he recovered to have transformed back into a heron.
Furaribi (ふらり火)
Not far down the coast, opposite the bay to Sado Island in Toyama, stories were told of the Furaribi. Wreathed in fire and with a face resembling a dog, it was said they were the spirits of those who were not given funerary rites when they died.
Basan (波山)
Also known as the Basabasa (婆娑婆娑), this fire-breathing fowl has a form like a very large chicken and dwells in the deep mountains of Ehime, on the southwestern island of Shikoku. Its fire is cold, and does not burn, but may be the only glimpse you can get of this bird, as it’s said to disappear when looked at.1
Yogen-no-dori (ヨゲンノトリ)
At the outside of the Edo period in the mid 1800s, Japan experienced a deadly cholera epidemic. When the outbreak reached a town in Ishikawa prefecture, the mayor recalled a story he had heard about a two-headed crow that appeared in the mountains of Yamanashi and foretold the arrival of the disease. This mysterious bird proclaimed that those who kept its image in their home and venerated it would be spared.
This story faded into history until 2020, when the curator of a museum in Yamanashi shared a journal that recorded the crow’s warning and promise. In that way, it once again became a symbol for hope through the Covid-19 pandemic.
Yatagarasu (八咫烏)
Perhaps the most famous mythical bird in Japan, the Yatagarasu is a three-legged crow said to be the chosen messenger of Amaterasu, Goddess of the Sun and head of the Japanese pantheon. Its name refers to its size: eight ata2, or about 144 cm across. In the myth, it leads Japan’s first emperor, Jinmu, to the land that would become the Yamato Empire, and eventually Japan. With the guidance of the Yatagarasu and aid in battle of still another legendary bird, the Kinshi (a golden kite), Jinmu conquered the Japanese mainland.
Its three legs are said to represent the heavens, the sky, and the earth—the realms of the gods, the animals, and man, respectively. With a literal foot in each, it connects the three, carrying messages and the spirits of those who have passed with the warmth and strength of the Sun. It is also the symbol of the Japan Football League.
There is a common thread through these myths: an idea that there is something unknowable about the natural world and its representatives. The line between spirits and animals blurs and mixes, and often the forms taken by those coming from beyond are not human, but Other. This distance comes from a recognition of the life that exists wholly separate to anything people do. A world that moves along on its own path, as capable of blotting out the midday Sun as it is lighting your way in the dark.
When considering the sorts of birds that could visit you from the distant skies beyond the horizon, it’s easy to see why a small, gentle swallow napping in your rafters could be considered good luck.
See you next kō~
[Images & info courtesy of kurashikata.com, kurashi-no-hotorisya.jp, 543life.com, and Wikipedia except where otherwise noted]
Many of the creatures that appear in the fictional world of Pokémon are based on mythological creatures and folklore, and the Basan provided inspiration to the designs for Magmar, and the Torchic evolutionary line
“Ya” is one pronunciation of the word “eight” and when combined with “ata” becomes “yata”