Too many lanterns were hung at the entrance of Meiji Jingu Shrine to count

Stepping off the train at Harajuku Station—a neighborhood globally synonymous with hyper-trendy youth culture—I turned my steps toward the entrance of the adjacent Meiji Jingu Shrine. While famous for drawing Japan’s largest crowds for New Year’s prayers, the shrine wore a different face on this particular day. Suspended near the entrance of the forested approach was an immense, overwhelming cluster of white paper lanterns, signaling the approach of the autumn grand festival. Hung seamlessly within heavy wooden frames, this dense grid of lanterns formed a colossal white barrier that seemed to challenge arriving visitors. Seeing so many globes packed into my field of vision at once felt less like a grand spectacle and more like a bizarre illusion, as if I were staring at the segmented flank of a gargantuan caterpillar.

Intrigued by this strangely orderly insectoid wall, I drew closer. Each lantern was brushed with bold, pitch-black calligraphy in a style known as Chochin-moji. The characters are intentionally drawn thick and blocky, leaving as little negative space as possible—a talismanic design meant to "keep luck from spilling out" and to invite commercial prosperity. Naturally, every single one of these luck-harboring spheres bore the name of its financial donor. Looking at them, one is struck by a vivid reality: to sustain a religious festival on such a grand scale, the spiritual potency of the gods alone is not enough; the pragmatic, financial backing of mortal hands is absolutely indispensable.

Examining these tokens of worldly devotion one by one, I noticed that the list went far beyond individual patrons; the names of household-name corporations were deeply woven into the mix. Even in an era rife with economic grumbling, it seems there is no shortage of players willing to invest in the divine. Yet, staring at these unswervingly aligned rows of names, I didn't find myself moved to solemn reverence by their piety. Instead, a peculiar anxiety crossed my mind: if the number of corporate and private donors keeps multiplying year after year, won't these sprawling, sacred grounds eventually be swallowed whole by a sea of paper lanterns, leaving future pilgrims with nowhere left to step?