His eyes are gentle and serene, and I feel a sense of calm in their gaze. I approach him slowly, not wanting to startle him or break the peacefulness of the moment.
As I come closer, I see that he is holding a small bag in his hands. It looks like it could be made of linen or cotton, and is adorned with a simple, yet intricate, design. I wonder what he could be carrying in it.
"Excuse me," I say to him, in Japanese. "May I ask what you are carrying in your bag?"
He smiles at me, and I feel a warmth in my chest. "Of course," he says, in accented but clear Japanese. "I am carrying shimeji mushrooms."
I am surprised by his answer. Shimeji mushrooms are a popular ingredient in Japanese cuisine, but I have never seen a Buddhist monk carrying them before.
"I am taking them to a temple in the mountains," he says, seeing my confusion. "We will use them in our cooking for the upcoming celebration of the Equinox."
I nod, impressed by his dedication to his faith and the traditions of his community. "That's wonderful," I say. "Shimeji mushrooms are delicious."
He chuckles, and I feel myself relaxing in his presence. "Yes, they are," he says. "But their true beauty lies not in their taste, but in the way they grow. They are like us, growing in the darkness and humidity, pushing through obstacles to reach the light."
I am struck by his words, and feel a pang of inspiration. "That's beautiful," I say. "Thank you for sharing that with me."
He nods, and we stand there for a moment, in silence. The rush of the salarymen has subsided, and the platform is quiet.
As I turn to leave, he speaks again. "May I ask you a question, young one?"
I turn back to him, curious. "Of course."
"What brings you to this place, at this time?"
I consider his question for a moment, and then answer honestly. "I don't know," I say. "I was just passing through, on my way to somewhere else."
He nods again, and I see a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "That's how it often starts," he says. "We think we are just passing through, but then something catches our attention, and we find ourselves standing still, in the midst of the chaos and the noise."
He smiles at me once more, and then turns to continue on his way. I watch him go, his saffron robes a bright spot in the grey expanse of the station.
As I walk away, I realize that the encounter had left me feeling lighter, freer. The words of the monk had touched something deep inside me, and I felt like I had gained a new perspective on my own life.
And as I passed by the ads for hair replacement and business English classes, I found myself smiling, thinking about the shimeji mushrooms growing in the darkness, pushing through obstacles to reach the light.