Eigen-ji was founded in 1361 by Jakushitsu Genko, a Zen master who was also one of the great poets of medieval Japan. Jakushitsu established the temple under the patronage of Sasaki Ujinori, the shugo -- military governor -- of Omi Province. The site he chose sat in a valley along the western flank of the Suzuka Mountains, east of Lake Biwa, where forested ridges channel streams through narrow gorges. Jakushitsu's reputation as an eminent roshi drew monks from across Japan; by some accounts, more than 2,000 came to train at the temple during its early years. The legend of the temple's sacred image holds that Jakushitsu discovered a small statue of the bodhisattva Kanzeon, barely five centimeters tall, glowing with a mysterious light atop a rock in the mountains east of the temple. He commissioned the noted Buddhist sculptor Gotokan to create a larger seated Kanzeon figure, and concealed the tiny original inside its crown -- where it remains, hidden within the hidden.

Like many temples across the centuries, Eigen-ji endured periods of decline and renewal. During the Edo period, the temple was revived under the leadership of Isshi Bunshu, an abbot dispatched from the great Rinzai monastery of Myoshin-ji in Kyoto. This restoration carried extraordinary patronage: Emperor Go-Mizunoo himself, along with his consort Tofukumon-in and the powerful Hikone Domain, sponsored the rebuilding. That a Zen temple in a mountain valley could attract imperial attention speaks to the spiritual weight Eigen-ji carried within the Rinzai tradition. The temple's status as head of its own autonomous branch meant it was not simply a place of worship but a seat of institutional authority, training monks and overseeing subordinate temples across the region.

Eigen-ji is renowned for two seasonal spectacles. In spring, a distinctive variety of cherry blossom known as the Eigenji-zakura blooms across the temple grounds, its pale flowers framing the weathered wooden halls and stone pathways. The temple is recognized as one of the 100 Views of Nature in Kansai for these blossoms. In autumn, the transformation is equally dramatic: the maple trees that crowd the valley floor and climb the surrounding hillsides turn deep crimson and gold, drawing visitors who come specifically for the koyo -- the autumn color viewing that is a Japanese cultural institution as deeply rooted as hanami, its springtime counterpart. The temple's setting in a narrow mountain valley amplifies the effect, with color closing in from all sides and reflecting in the still water of garden ponds. Between these two seasons of spectacle, the rest of the year belongs to the quiet rhythms of Zen practice.

The hibutsu tradition is not unique to Eigen-ji -- temples across Japan keep sacred images veiled -- but few execute the idea with such dramatic patience. The principal image sits behind its closed doors year after year, decade after decade, visible only in memory and anticipation. When the doors finally open, the event becomes a pilgrimage, drawing worshippers who may have waited most of their adult lives for the moment. The practice reflects a core Zen idea: that the most sacred things are not diminished by being unseen, and that the act of waiting is itself a form of devotion. For visitors arriving between unveilings, the closed doors are their own kind of experience -- a reminder that not everything worth seeking can be seen on demand. The temple's mountain setting, its cherry blossoms and autumn maples, its history of poet-monks and imperial patrons, all surround a central absence. And that absence is the point.