PL Tower

The PL tower was open to public. It opened six days a week from 10:00 A.M. to 4 P.M., and I arrived that day at about 10:15 A.M. The exterior of the tower was designed by PL Kyodan’s second leader Tokuchika Miki, eldest son of Tokuharu Miki, the founder of the predecessor of PL Kyodan.

At the size of of perhaps a dozen football fields, the tower grounds seemed completely empty. I was the only living soul walking around the park, and took my sweet time strolling around… I love strolling around places where I’m completely alone. It feels weirdly comforting and safe.

It was a cool Autumn morning, breezy but not windy. The sun hung low in the sky, glowed dimly, and veiled by a thin blanket of clouds that diffused its radiance across the sky.

I walked pass a children’s theatre, which was located inside the park. There were several cars parked there, but no one was getting in or out. I wondered if their owners lived in the villas (PL Kyodan housings) that were in the tower grounds as well.

The Square

There was a sizable square right in front of the tower stairs, surrounded by greenery and a dozen one-to-two-meter-tall stone statues of abstract shapes. The right size of the tower grounds seemed to be a PL-owned golf course, separated and veiled by tall-growing lush trees. I could hear distant voices coming from there, there seemed to be people playing.

I wondered around square and found that the statues seemed to be from the same Japanese sculpture symposium that was held in the year 1963.

As I was strolling around and taking photos of the sculptures and the tower, I heard the sound of a vehicle: a white truck drove from the entrance around to the square, then disappeared round the back of the tower, where a Do Not Enter sign stood. All the while I tried to act inconspicuous, but being the sole soul on the square, I was sure registered by whoever was on the truck. I felt a bit nervous. The autumn wind blew strong.

I ascended the stairs to the tower.

The scale of it was astounding. Never had I seen anything so unique and so large in my life, nothing like it. I stood there for a good five minutes just admiring its grandeur. Then came the realization that I was completely alone, and I made up my mind to walk around the tower. It had such a grotesque geometry which looks a different shape from every angle, reminded me distinctively of the props used in the Japanese Tokusatsu (特撮) films such as the towers in Godzilla or Ultraman. Windows of different sizes were carved into the tower, especially at the middle and top parts of the tower, which shaped like the knots of the elder wand.

Are these windows for independent rooms? Or one giant hollow space? What goes on in there? Do people live up there? How many?

More and more questions crept up to my mind as I tread, a modest automatic glass door was there at the center of the tower’s base. The sunlight’s reflections obscured the view through the glass door. I had one way to go and that’s inside that door.

Into the Glass Doors

I walked to the entrance of the tower. The automatic doors slid open, revealing what’s inside.

There was a table right in front of the opening, almost blocking it. Two middle-aged men in white shirts and black pants sat there expressionlessly facing outward — they had probably been watching me the entire time I was wandering outside. I tensed up quite a bit but did not stop my steps.

As I stepped into the ground-level hall of the tower, the older and thinner of the two men rose to his feet, greeted me, and walked directly over. He had that iconic hasty old man walk: slight forward lean, quick, shuffling steps and minimal arm swing. He wore a pair of glasses.

As long as he engaged me, he offered a tour around the first two floors of the tower. This feels like the routine. Of course, I agreed.

I assumed that photography is not allowed inside and so did not dare to take out my phone to take photos.

There was quite a sizable reception area on the ground floor. The walls were of abstract geometry just like the outside. The middle of the hall was the elevator which goes all the way to the top. My guide told me that it used to be open to visitors to go to the top. But that had seemingly turned the tower to a tourist spot and they didn’t want that, so it was since closed of to the general public. I reckon that was one of the reason why this place is so void of… people. There was also a PL amusement park in the campus which closed up in the 80s.

Some sculptures of different genres were scatter around the hall, with a few clay replicas and early ideation of the tower in one corner. They were made by Tokuchika Miki, the man introduced. Whenever after he brings me to a new grotesque statue and introduces the history of it and how its made, I would then pretend to be appreciating it for a minute or two. But really I was just soaking in the atmosphere more than anything. It stroke me that the whole exprience on the PL grounds were not very different from an art exhibition, just one that is too large, too empty, and too in the middle of nowhere.

I detected the slightest impatience in him, and resolved to hasten up. He led me to the elevator. There was metal plaque on the wall, an overview of the floors of the tower. I don’t remember the exact number of floors there were, perhaps around 13. He pressed the elevator button as we awkwardly waited. As we boarded the elevator, he asked me where I was coming from and why did I visit this place, another awkward exchange. The ride to the second floor took a long time.

The Shrine

Out of the elevator and around the corner, emerged the tower’s shrine (神殿). It was just as unusual as any other, a striking, enigmatic structure of metal and light. Its flared walls rise with solemn precision, drawing the eye toward a central red core that glows with quiet intensity. Above it, a golden emblem (usually the core to Japanese religions, new or not) hangs like an unblinking eye, suspended in silence.