Asakusa Temple Glitch: Recursive Blessings
The incense tasted of ash and repeating destinies. Not the sandalwood serenity I expected at Asakusa Temple, but a gritty, almost burnt flavor that coated my tongue. I’d come seeking peace, a brief respite from the relentless churn of Tokyo, but found something far stranger.
The old woman at the omikuji stand smiled, her face a roadmap of wrinkles. I deposited a hundred-yen coin and shook the metal container, listening to the clatter of wooden sticks. Number thirteen. Bad luck, according to her. She presented the paper with a practiced flourish.
The fortune read of misfortune, of stagnation, of paths blocked by unseen forces. Standard fare, I thought, crumpling the paper and tying it to the designated wire, hoping to negate its negative influence. I then went to wash my hands, and found something unexpected.
I noticed it almost immediately. The water from the purification fountain was lukewarm, almost stagnant. The scent was metallic, vaguely reminiscent of blood. And then I saw it: a flicker, a brief shimmering in the air above the water. A glitch.
Suddenly, I was back at the omikuji stand. The old woman smiled. I deposited a hundred-yen coin. The clatter of the wooden sticks. Number thirteen.
This time, I hesitated. The fortune felt heavier, pregnant with a significance I hadn’t appreciated before. I glanced at the water fountain. The shimmering was gone. Was I imagining things?
I crumpled the fortune, tied it to the wire, and walked towards the fountain. The water was still lukewarm, still metallic. The shimmer reappeared, clearer this time, like a heat haze distorting reality. Another loop?
Breaking the Loop
The next iteration, I didn’t even bother with the fortune. I walked straight to the water fountain. The metallic tang was stronger now, almost unbearable. The shimmer pulsed, a visible tear in the fabric of reality. I reached out, extending my hand into the distorted space.
A jolt of energy surged through me, cold and sharp. I recoiled, my hand tingling. The shimmer intensified, and images flashed before my eyes: the temple, the old woman, the fortune, repeating endlessly.
I realized what I had to do. The problem wasn’t the misfortune itself, but my reaction to it. The loop was powered by my desire to escape the negative prediction.
The next time, I accepted the fortune. I read it carefully, absorbing its message. I didn’t crumple it, didn’t tie it to the wire. I held it in my hand, acknowledging its potential influence, but refusing to be controlled by it. I felt the loop give.
The water fountain was cool and clear. The scent of incense was pure sandalwood. The old woman smiled, a genuine smile this time, not the automated gesture of a recurring event. I walked away from the temple, the fortune still in my hand, no longer a threat, but a reminder of the power of acceptance.
The ramen I had later tasted exactly how it should: perfect umami.
