The middle aged man came to the shrine seeking purification. At the spiritual vortex, the kami were everywhere, residing in the gray boulders, the leafed-out trees, the very air. He began the Omairi ritual by bowing twice before the shrine and clapping twice. He laid out an offering of fish, rice wine and salt. Then he prayed. Afterward he meditated. His concentration was broken by the sound of a jetliner flying across the sky. He trembled and looked up to see the same kind of aircraft he’d serviced that fateful day, the plane that had crashed killing everyone on board.
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