A thin rubber separates the two, with white liquid on the inside and red blood on the outside. Imagine this blood flowing into you in exchange for the consequences of liquid intrusion. A mountain where your body and mine overlap and are shaped. I cross the boundary and step into it.
In some areas, mountains were considered symbolic mothers’ wombs. People believed that a person who entered the mountain would be born anew when they came out. However, women were forbidden to enter most of the mountains, as they were considered unclean; bloody as they are.
I go through the darkness of the trees that are quietly breathing. A crouched female figure can be seen in the distance. In the past, when parents abandoned their children, it was called mabiki.
In the ema (votive picture) at Tokumanji Temple, the shadow of a mother strangling her child casted on a window is depicted as an oni (ogress). But it is not the oni that I fear. It is the curse that gives birth to oni and to their children.
Shaking off the sweat, I continued to walk selflessly, only to realize that yamanba (mountain witch), not the oni, is there. A witch who governs wisdom and is excluded from the mundane world. With her white hair thrown back and her large mouth split to the side, the bloodstained yamanba smiles. The curse that bound me is lifted.
At the moment, the rubber ruptures, spilling the mingled pink liquid onto the floor.