Temple legend traces the origins of Saihō-ji to the Nara period, when the monk Gyōki built on a site that had once served as a retreat for Prince Shōtoku. The temple was primarily constructed to honor Amitābha, the Buddha of Infinite Light, and for centuries it functioned as a place of Pure Land devotion. But the figure who gave Saihō-ji its enduring character arrived in the fourteenth century. Musō Soseki, one of the most influential Zen masters in Japanese history, restored the temple and reimagined its gardens. Under his direction, the grounds took on their distinctive two-tiered structure: a lower garden centered on a moss-covered promenade around a golden pond, and an upper garden featuring a stark Zen rock arrangement. The rock garden on the northern grounds is considered a demonstration of Musō's creative genius, its stones placed with an intentionality that has been studied and debated for seven hundred years.

The moss was not part of the plan. The lower garden's famous carpet of green is believed to have established itself after flooding during the Edo period transformed the temple grounds into the damp, shaded environment that bryophytes crave. Over time, more than 120 distinct varieties colonized the earth around the golden pond, creating a living textile of greens so varied that the eye keeps finding new shades -- chartreuse beside emerald beside a green so dark it borders on black. The pond itself is shaped like the Japanese character for heart and contains three small islands. A circular promenade winds through the grove, passing three tea houses whose names were inspired by phrases from the Blue Cliff Record, a foundational Zen text. The most historically significant is Shōnan-tei, originally built during the fourteenth century, later restored by the tea master Sen Shōan, and famous for sheltering the statesman Iwakura Tomomi toward the end of the Edo period. Shōnan-tei is registered as an important cultural property.

Until 1977, Saihō-ji was open to walk-in visitors like any other Kyoto temple. The result was predictable: crowds trampled the delicate moss, compacting the soil and damaging the very thing they had come to see. The temple responded by closing its gates to casual tourism entirely. Today, access requires advance reservation and participation in a Zen activity -- zazen meditation, sutra chanting, or the signature sutra-copying exercise. The restrictions transformed the visitor experience. Instead of jostling through crowds with cameras, visitors arrive in small groups, spend quiet time with brush and ink, and then enter the garden with a different quality of attention. The moss benefits from the reduced foot traffic, and the garden benefits from visitors who have been primed for contemplation rather than consumption.

Saihō-ji rewards careful timing. During the East Asian rainy season, from early June through mid-July, the garden reaches its peak brilliance. The persistent rains saturate the moss, and the green deepens to an almost electric intensity beneath the overcast sky. In late autumn, the effect reverses: maple leaves in red and gold drift down to rest on the green carpet, creating a contrast so vivid it barely looks real. The temple also holds within its grounds a three-storied pagoda erected in 1978, used to store copies of sutras written by Rinzai Zen adherents, and the main hall, reconstructed in 1969, where an image of Amitabha is enshrined with sliding door paintings by the artist Inshō Dōmoto. Stone monuments engraved with works by the haiku poet Kyoshi Takahama and the novelist Jirō Osaragi stand quietly among the trees. In 1994, Saihō-ji was registered as a UNESCO World Heritage Site as part of the Historic Monuments of Ancient Kyoto -- formal recognition of a place that never needed the designation to command reverence.