I own a home in Kyoto, Japan actually on the temple on grounds in

The words of Larry Ellison — “I own a home in Kyoto, Japan actually on the temple grounds in Nanzenji that is going to become a Japanese art museum.” — seem, at first glance, to be a simple declaration of wealth and legacy. Yet beneath their worldly tone lies something far older, deeper, and spiritual: a reflection on beauty, impermanence, and reverence for tradition. For this statement is not merely about ownership of property; it is about stewardship — the ancient duty to protect what is sacred and ensure that beauty endures beyond one’s lifetime. To live upon the grounds of Nanzenji, a temple steeped in centuries of wisdom, is to dwell at the meeting point of the material and the eternal.

Kyoto, once the imperial heart of Japan, is not merely a city but a living poem. Its gardens, temples, and quiet streets breathe with the rhythm of history. To build or preserve a home there is to place oneself among spirits older than empires, to listen to the whisper of Zen monks who once walked the same paths. When Ellison speaks of his home becoming a Japanese art museum, he speaks as one who seeks continuity between eras — to turn the fruits of personal success into a gift for future generations. In this act, he mirrors the timeless ideal of the philosopher-king, the enlightened patron who understands that wealth’s truest form is not possession, but preservation.

The origin of such reverence lies deep within Japanese philosophy, in the aesthetic of wabi-sabi — the beauty found in simplicity, transience, and imperfection. The temples of Kyoto, including Nanzenji, were built not to dominate nature, but to harmonize with it. Their architecture does not shout; it breathes. Their stones and moss tell the story of time itself. By situating his home upon such sacred soil, Ellison aligns himself, perhaps unknowingly, with this tradition — one that values contemplation over conquest, stillness over noise. And in choosing to transform that space into a museum, he affirms that beauty is not a possession to be hoarded, but a legacy to be shared.

We may recall the story of Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, the shogun who in the fourteenth century built the famed Kinkaku-ji, the Temple of the Golden Pavilion. Though adorned in splendor, Yoshimitsu’s temple was not meant as mere monument to power. It was a reflection of enlightenment — the shimmering balance between ambition and peace. So too does Ellison’s plan echo this tradition: to turn the home of a modern titan into a haven of art, where beauty may dwell long after the builder is gone. In this way, the house becomes not a fortress of ego, but a bridge between cultures, a vessel of enduring grace.

Yet there is irony, too, in the tale — for Larry Ellison, founder of Oracle, is a man whose empire was built upon technology, the very symbol of speed, progress, and impermanence. To find him drawn to the serenity of Kyoto, to the still waters of Nanzenji, is to witness the eternal truth that the soul, no matter how modern its surroundings, yearns for grounding. The warrior of innovation turns, at last, to contemplation. This is a journey as old as civilization itself — from the sword to the scroll, from the marketplace to the monastery. It is the recognition that the ultimate wealth lies not in data or dominion, but in the silence of understanding.

What, then, can we learn from his words? That success without reverence is emptiness. That even the builder of vast cities of glass must one day kneel before the wisdom of stone and moss. To own land on sacred ground is not triumph, but trust — a reminder that we are merely temporary custodians of all we hold. The ancients knew this well. The Pharaohs built pyramids not simply to exalt themselves, but to ensure that memory endured. The Greek patrons of art did not build temples for private pleasure, but to honor the divine through beauty. Ellison’s gesture, whether conscious or not, continues this tradition — the act of transforming private fortune into public good.

The lesson, then, is clear: let what you own serve something greater than yourself. If you build, build not only for your comfort, but for the enrichment of others. If you collect beauty, do not hide it, but share it, so that it may inspire those who come after you. Seek always a place where your achievements meet humility, where wealth becomes art, and ambition becomes wisdom. For as the monks of Nanzenji teach, nothing we possess is truly ours — all is lent to us by time, to be returned with reverence.

So, when Larry Ellison speaks of his home in Kyoto, he speaks not only as a man of great means, but as a participant in a far greater dialogue — the dialogue between past and future, man and spirit, technology and tradition. His words remind us that even in this age of speed and data, the truest power still lies in stillness — and that to create something lasting, one must first learn to honor what has already endured. The temple stands. The art remains. The man, like all men, will pass — but the beauty he chose to preserve will continue to whisper across generations, as softly and eternally as the wind through the pines of Kyoto.