Temples of Kyoto

Wandering Through Kyoto’s Temples: Where I Felt Time Stand Still

By Hannah Greer
A soulful journey through Japan’s ancient shrines and quiet gardens.

The First Morning: Entering Kyoto’s Whisper

Kyoto greeted me with silence. Not the kind that feels empty—but the kind that feels full. It was early spring when I arrived, the cherry blossoms just starting to tease open, their petals like secrets unfolding one by one. The city itself felt like a hush—soft-spoken, measured, and reverent.

I had come to Kyoto not to see, but to feel. I was chasing something I couldn’t quite name: stillness, maybe. Clarity. I had been living at a relentless pace, checking boxes in my career, barely breathing between flights and deadlines. I needed to remember what it meant to slow down—and Kyoto seemed to promise that.

Kinkaku-ji: The Golden Reflection of Myself

The first temple I visited was Kinkaku-ji, the Golden Pavilion. Touristy, yes—but also unshakably surreal. As I stood across the still pond and watched the golden structure shimmer in its reflection, I felt myself quiet inside. For the first time in months, I wasn’t thinking about what came next. I was just there.

The golden exterior felt less like extravagance and more like a mirror—reminding me that beauty often lies in standing still. In letting yourself be reflected instead of constantly reaching.

I sat on a bench nearby for nearly an hour. I watched the wind move across the water. I listened to the crunch of gravel as people passed. I didn’t take a photo. I just was.

Ryoan-ji: Lessons in Stone and Space

Later that day, I walked to Ryoan-ji, the temple famous for its rock garden. It’s just 15 stones arranged in white gravel—yet the silence here felt louder than anywhere else. I stared at the stones for so long I lost track of time. The longer I looked, the more I noticed: the precise rakes of gravel, the way shadows moved with the sun, the way I could never see all 15 stones at once from a single perspective.

It felt like a metaphor. That maybe life isn’t meant to be fully understood from where we’re standing. That sometimes, it’s okay not to see everything. That peace can exist even in incomplete views.

Fushimi Inari Taisha: Thousands of Torii and One Quiet Mind

On my third day in Kyoto, I woke before sunrise to climb the path of Fushimi Inari Taisha. I had seen the iconic red torii gates in photos, but nothing prepared me for the feeling of walking beneath them—gate after gate, path after path, into the forest.

I was alone for most of the climb. The forest was still, except for the occasional chirp of birds or rustle of wind through trees. The gates wrapped around me like a prayer. Each step felt sacred.

At one point, I stopped and rested on a moss-covered step. A cat appeared from nowhere and sat beside me. Neither of us moved for what felt like forever. Time, again, had stilled.

Ginkaku-ji: The Silver Temple That Was Never Silver

Unlike its golden sibling, Ginkaku-ji (the Silver Pavilion) is understated, weathered, and quiet. It was originally meant to be covered in silver leaf but never was. And yet, it holds a different kind of beauty—one that comes from imperfection, from intention.

I walked slowly through the garden, past carefully shaped pine trees and sand sculptures arranged like waves. I felt something settle in me here—a kind of acceptance. Of flaws. Of detours. Of the quiet dignity in things unfinished.

This was where I cried. Not loudly. Just a few tears that surprised me with their softness. I wasn’t sad. I was just… open.

Maruyama Park and the Return to Motion

On my final evening in Kyoto, I wandered into Maruyama Park. The cherry blossoms had exploded into full bloom. Families picnicked beneath them. Children chased each other. A woman played shamisen near a small pond.

I realized something important as I sat beneath a cherry tree, pink petals drifting around me like confetti: stillness doesn’t have to mean stopping. Sometimes it’s just about being present—even in motion.

Time Isn’t Lost—It’s Found

Kyoto didn’t freeze time. It revealed it. It peeled back the layers of rush, of noise, of expectation. It reminded me that there is power in pausing, in sitting with yourself among old stones and whispering trees.

If you ever feel like the world is spinning too fast—go to Kyoto. Wander its temples. Sit with its silence. Let time stand still, not so you can stop living, but so you can remember how to.

Have you experienced a place that made time feel different? Share your moment of stillness in the comments or tag @AffordableJourney with #TimeStoodStillKyoto.