Fighting with the floor

I have several masters whom I respect very much. The writer Makoto Shiina is one of them.

Makoto Shiina is known for his poignant novels based on his own experience, as well as humorous essays in the outdoors.
He is well-built, and yet smart, and keeps a good figure.

When I asked him how he kept fit, he said it was simple. "You fight with the floor once a day". "How do you mean?" I asked.

"You do 200 push-ups, 200 sit-ups, and 200 squats every day. You don't use a machine. You just fight with the floor. That's all."

"When do you do that?"

"Before I go to sleep."

Makoto Shiina is known for his love for beers.

"Even when you are drunk?" I asked.

"Yes, even when I am drunk. It is like brushing your teeth, you see. If you don't do it, you don't feel good".

So the master told me how he kept fit.

For some reasons, I love running outside, but I have never really accustomed myself to fighting with the floor. I try from time to time, but I can never continue the exercise. Thus, it is difficult to be true to the master.

One of these days I would try to be true to the master. But then 200 times each is a tall order. Maybe I should start from 30 times each.

Life is so hard.


With the writer Makoto Siina in a recent meeting.

Tokyo Sky Tree

I was going to a theatre for a practice, when the car passed by the Tokyo Sky Tree.

I stopped typing on my laptop computer and looked up at is looming figure in a mixture of expectation and appreciation.
The tower, planned to reach the height of 634 m when completed, is now under construction.

The postwar Japan experienced rapid recovery and economic growth. People were still poor, but there was much hope and the future was perceived as bright.

The Tokyo Tower, completed in 1958 was a symbol of that era, depicted in a popular film ("Always san-chome no yuhi") recently.

More than 50 years later, The Tokyo Sky Tree is constructed into a new symbol. What Zeitgeist would it be seen to represent in the years to come, I wondered. I am living in it, yet I do not see clearly. Maybe things can be seen clearly only with the benefit of hindsight.

The Tree disappeared into the rear. After a concealed sigh, I went back to typing. The car reached the destination however before I could do any meaningful chunk of work.


The Tokyo Sky Tree, to be completed in 2011.


The Tokyo Tower, symbol of the postwar recovery of Japan.

Bittersweet reflections

In Japan, the Meiji era is known as a great time of change. Under Western influences, Japan tried to catch up, importing many ideas and technologies from Europe.

At such a time, it is psychologically natural to focus on new things to come. The bright images of a new civilization. Steam locomotives. Brick and stone buildings. The electric lights. These novel sights astonished people and moved their hearts. They testify the irreversibility of time.

On the other side of the coin, however, there must have been people who looked on the past era with nostalgia and longing. The Edo era was a unique civilization in itself. Perhaps even more harmonious and balanced than the decades that followed from the aesthetic point of view.

Yesterday, a series of events made me wonder how the Edo era must have appeared to people in the Meiji era. This exercise in imagination led to reflections on my own life.

Naturally, I am concerned about my future, as future is the only available degree of freedom for a living organism. I also look back on the past. The bittersweet reflections. Things that are gone for ever into the enigma of time.

Amazon Kindle

A few days ago, my Amazon Kindle arrived. I have been purchasing several books on the online store since.

My friends know well that I am a gadget man. The possession of the e-book reader has added much sparkle and joy to my train rides in the capital of Tokyo.

It has also solved a practical problem. As I am a VERY disorganized man, in the course of reading a book, I am likely to leave the copy somewhere. Then I forget where I have left it. When I have the urge to read on, it is often the case that I have to do an extensive office searching before I can satisfy my bookworm urge. This delay is sometimes fatal, as the urge can become stagnant and dissolves as times fly.

With the Amazon Kindle, I can read several books in parallel, and never lose track of them. Theoretically speaking, of course, there is the chance that you misplace Amazon Kindle in the office, and you are obliged to organize a one man search party again. However, the enigma is that I am very good at holding to a digital devise. I almost never lose track of them. It's my digital instinct, perhaps.

Thus, the first few days of my partnership with Amazon Kindle has been just lovely. I have a very long list of books that I would like to read on this devise. My train rides and toilet times would continue to be enriched by it for many days to come.

Inner pictures

Nowadays, we are used to the idea of capturing moments of life with camera.

Needless to say, it used to be quite different in the old times.

Although photos do help us in recalling things in the past, most of the precious things in early life is remembered privately, without any photographic records to testify them.

When I was about 7 years old, there was a baby sparrow on the road in front of home. It was apparently feeble and helpless, unable to fly by itself.

I held it in my palms in an endeavor to give protection, and carried to the living room. Looking at the sparrow, my mother said, "maybe it wouldn't eat anything". I went to a pet shop with my sister, and bought some bird food. My mother was right. No matter how hard we tried, the baby sparrow would not swallow a thing. I knew that wild animals sometimes would refuse to eat in captivity. I was very worried.

Then things started to move very quickly. First there was a slight commotion outside. I heard the sound of wings. The baby sparrow started to react.

Before I realized that the mother sparrow have come to the rescue, the baby sparrow was already airborne. The strength left in it surprised me. Although I thought the windows were closed, there was this tiny gap. The baby sparrow flew straight to it, and went out into the open air with mother sparrow before I could do anything.

Thus all was well in the end. I was delighted, although there was a slight pang of loneliness.

To this day, I can recall the scenes of this incident very vividly. Although there are no photographic records, I still carry the inner pictures with me. I sometimes recall the gallery of images that made one of the most memorable experiences in my early life.

Precisely because it is absurd.

After writing about "Alice in Wonderland" yesterday, I remembered many different things.
The sequel, "Through the Looking-Glass", is also very delightful. I love, for example, the remark by the Red Queen.

-----------
"Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!"
-----------


Historically, this sentence has been giving inspirations to evolutionary biologists.
When I first read the Looking-Glass in the teens, the Jabberwocky poem struck me with its sensitive sense of humor.
------------

This was the poem that Alice read.


JABBERWOCKY

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!'

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.


'It seems very pretty,' she said when she had finished it, 'but it's
RATHER hard to understand!' (You see she didn't like to confess, even
to herself, that she couldn't make it out at all.) 'Somehow it seems
to fill my head with ideas--only I don't exactly know what they are!
However, SOMEBODY killed SOMETHING: that's clear, at any rate--'
--------------

" However, SOMEBODY killed SOMETHING: that's clear, at any rate".
What a fine spirit of nonsense!

Nonsensical things lifts our spirit.
And the world is the merrier, precisely because it is absurd.



The Jabberwocky. Illustration by John Tenniel.

A picture or conversation, please!

The immortal "Alice's adventures in Wonderland" by Lewis Carroll begins thus:

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice 'without pictures or conversation?'

I really love the way Alice expresses her preferred condition for a book, namely "with a picture or conversation in it".
A picture or a conversation is like a scaffold which attracts a child's attention. As one is drawn deeply into the story, other things come to the rescue of the "keep going on", but there must be some initial inducers.

The necessity for a "spoonful of sugar" continues well into adulthood. There are things that makes our eyes gleam with kindled enthusiasm when we encounter a strange thing.

We are children deep inside, with things setting fire to our investigative mind in a manner like that "all in a golden afternoon".

Therefore, "a picture or conversation, please!"


Here's a picture. The white rabbit alluring Alice into Wonderland.

A tiny leaf dancing

In Andrei Tarkovsky's film "Solaris", the ocean plays an important role. The ever changing, whirling tides are living organisms, beyond human comprehension, floating above the normal modes of communication, the mundane existence of humanity.

Although the Solaris ocean is a fictitious entity, the same degree of invisibility surrounds the vast chunk of water that is earth's ocean. When I go to seaside, I never fail to be impressed by the intractable, impenetrable mass, refusing human civilization, protecting the last virgin nature on this overcivilized planet.

The point is to see that there is an ocean in each of us. The vastness of our unconscious and its uncontrollability is a scandal for anyone who professes to pursue a logical and coherent life.

Walking along a Tokyo street, I feel the ocean that is inside me swaying to-and-fro. I am a tiny leaf dancing on the waves of the vast ocean, never knowing where I am going, oblivious of what I have been.

If you have the soul of a poet

I went to lecture at the International Conference Center Hiroshima. On the way, I passed by the Atomic Bomb Dome (Genbaku Dome).

Its shape against the sky never fails to impress me deeply. The deep impression is a testimony that inside that beauty, there resides a deep sadness. And that sadness is shared by all things in the universe, whether living or otherwise.

If you have the soul of a poet, and everybody has the soul of poet, you feel the awe and the tears flow in your inner space. Peace is a strong resolution. It is a fighting spirit, to get rid of the stupid brutalities.


Myself in front of the Genbaku Dome in the year 2000.

Surprise visit of sunbeam

On Saturday and Sunday, I was in Shinjo village to attend a symposium. Shinjo is such a hidden treasure. There is a street with cherry trees on both sides. Hazy mountains surround the cozily small plain on which the human habitation finds itself. The houses stand in a quiet harmony. Shinjo is one of these best kept secrets.

Apart from a single Minshuku, there aren't any hotels or ryokans in Shinjo. Therefore the participants of the symposium stayed at private houses. I was staying with Mr. Katsuthoshi Shishido. Before going to bed, (or rather, futon), I strolled along the cherry street. It was an incredible night. There were several drinking parties going on, with people from the symposium gathering here and there.

I enjoyed chatting with people over beer and sake as well as finding solace in the solitude as I ventured into the night air from time to time.

Strolling the stretch among houses dimly lit by candles, I pondered why precious things are hard to give explicit expressions for. The practical and vulgar things get easily distributed. While the gentle and poignant suffer. People hardly gave a thought, for example, to the destruction of nature for a long, long time. Or the deterioration of conscience.

No wonder self-consciousness suffers in modern times. Each one us is bleeding internally from the effects of civilization. But then the fact that I am I have always suffered, the brutal forces of nature and society trespassing and degrading its sovereignty, while the comfort comes occasionally, like a surprise visit of sunbeam through a thick black cloud.

The Obama speech

On Satuday, I went to the Suntory hall in Akasaka, Tokyo to attend President Barack Obama's speech. Mr. Obama was on his two day visit to Japan, as he involved himself in the first part of the Asia visit.
I arrived at the venue at past nine. Katsuhiko Hibino, my artist friend was in the queue. Once seated, I discovered Takeshi Kitano was in the seat front of me.

First there was music. A string quartet played Mozart. Then there was silence. While the audience in the arena waited in great anticipations, the man himself came onto the stage.

That magical moment of transformation. People standing up. Applauding enthusiastically. History being developed and made in your own eyes.

Charisma is an art depending on synthesis and balance. That a nation as large as the United Stages needs a leadership in the form of a human being in the flesh is an interesting fact of the world we live in. Although a human being is not without shortcomings, he or she is irreplaceable by any advanced technologies. We are, each one of us, the dynamo which drive history. Literally. How humble and awesome one feels.

Mr. Obama was as charming as I have always imagined him to be. Slim and warm, with enthusiasm like a teenager, and a soundness of judgment apparent from his demeanours.

The talk was over before I knew it. After s deep sigh, I walked out into a Tokyo which looked different from what I have known.

Something has landed.

(This entry is published in advance of the 15th November date, for which it is designated, in view of the value of rapid reporting on current affairs and for the reason I would be on Sunday in a region where an internet connection might be difficult).

Kobe

President Barack Obama is now visiting Japan. According to a news report, he expressed his wish to taste "Kobe beef" during his stay.

It is true that Kobe beef is a delicacy. The Japanese take great care in the preparation of food. I hope President Obama will have an opportunity to make his wishes come true here.

I once visited a steakhouse in Orlando, Florida. The name was "Kobe".
The chef held a knife and fork, and prepared the food in a very entertaining manner. During the procession, he actually made a "Mount Fuji" with sliced onions. Then he put some alcohol into the volcanic "crater" and set fire.

Bang!

A great fire momentarily came out.

"Mount Fuji has erupted!" The chef shouted.

To the best of my knowledge, no steakhouse in Japan makes an onion Mount Fuji and make it erupt. I enjoyed the whole experience, though. Exotic!

I hope U.S. and Japan would be on good terms in years to come.

Dandelions

When I started to learn English, I was fascinated by the word "dandelions". The Japanese language has a lovely word for this particular flower, namely "tampopo" (which became, by the way, the title for the popular film about noodles by Junzo Itami). The English denomination is alluring in a different way.

It was clear to me from the beginning that the word had something to do with "lions". I imagined that the expression referred to the mane of the male lion, as they are visually similar. Later, I learned that "dandelions" are literally "lion's tooth", where the "tooth" refers to the toothed leaves. Equipped with this knowledge then, I imagined a lion with its jaws wide open, the sharp teeth inside showing the pride of living.

Etymology is fascinating. Meanings are generated from layers of meanings. But then one is aware that the meanings of words are ultimately without reason.

On a field of significance without a bottom sways the yellow heads of dandelions. The sunbeams sprayed on their petals are enchanting messages from the cosmos which is fundamentally absurd.

Apple story

My mother grew up in Kokura, the north capital of the southern island of Kyushu. After she moved to Tokyo to marry my father, she learned that the food situation around Tokyo had been much worse during the war.

"We were never out of something to eat, really," she used to say. "We used to eat an bowlful of kazunoko (herring roe)". In and around Tokyo, kazunoko was considered a delicacy to be consumed at festive times, especially the new year. So there was certainly a geometrical variability in the values of marine foods.

Although the girl that was my mother never really starved, there was one particular thing that she craved for. The apples. My mother's father (my grandfather, who is sadly no longer with us) used to buy one apple for each of the children, once a month on the salary day.

My mother was the eldest child in the family. On the salary day, or rather the apple day for the children, she would take her brothers and sisters to the railway station, where they waited the father's return. Because apples were rare in Kyushu at that time, the children awaited eagerly for this monthly treat.

My mother used to tell this apple story from time to time when I was a child. Although I did not think much of it at that time, now it is fondly remembered, as a story epitomizing the essence of happiness.

Secret base

There are certain things in life that come and go as fads, and yet stand out in one's memory as vivid and significant for years to come.

The secret base play was one of them. When I was about 5, there was a vacant space near my house. Grasses grew there, and logs and metals were stored (or rather abandoned) all over the place.

It was a perfect setting for the "secret base" play.

We brought a few cardboard boxes, and started building the secret base. We imagined that we were preparing to fight an invisible and unidentified enemy. It was fun to prepare the flags and hats of the defense team.

The context was not necessarily one of confrontation, however. There was something fundamentally cozy and intimate about hiding ourselves together in the cardboard box next to each other. The skin touch. The breath. The inexplicable comradeship of us brats.

It may be because these moments of physical and spiritual proximity are rare to come nowadays that I miss the times of secret base so much.



The secret base. Happy childhood times.

Paris

On the way to Paris, I was chatting with a flight attendant gentleman. When he learned that I was going on to Berlin, he remarked "why, are you not going to Paris?"

"Yes, it is a shame, isn't it?" I replied.

I know. Paris is such a romantic city. When you go to Paris, something in you is stirred. There is a new breath in life. And you remember things long forgotten.

On the way back from Berlin, I passed Charles de Gaulle airport again. I saw the "Trains to Paris" sign. Then something in me moved quite strongly.

This time I did not make it. But someday I will.

"Kinder, schafft Neues!"

I went to a wonderful performance of Lohengrin in the Staatsoper here in Berlin. The inszenierung was by Stefan Herheim.
It was a performance difficult to interpret at first. But then things gradually became clear. Lohengrin, the swan knight. The beauty of trusting and then the dark shadows of doubts. Lohengrin does not come from a far-off land of magic and fantasy. He appears and then disappears from the stage ceiling. There is no topological enchantment there. Everything is stripped of the venerable machines of divination, and we are left only with brutal and prosaic facts. Then we have to start from precisely there.

At the end of the third act, the lights on the ceilings came down. And then a huge sign saying "Kinder, schafft Neues!" was hung from above. The message from Richard Wagner himself.

"Kinder, schafft Neues!" "Children, create new things". In order to create, we somehow have to let free from prejudices and
accomplishments. What words of enlightenment and liberation.

When I walked out of the theatre, the night air of Berlin was definitely warmer. And the Kinder were whispering nearby.

"Longtimes"

When I was a kid, I gradually learned that there were all kinds of people in society. Some are bad, but they are so with some reason, and often not without a charm. Everyone is eager to live. That was one of the first lessons in life. And I keep it.

When I was about 10, I was alone at home. The door bell rang. When I opened it, I saw a man dressed in black suit outside.
"Is your mom home?" he said. I said no. "Is your papa home?" he asked. I said no. "Is anybody around?" he continued. I answered again in the negative.

Then his face became suddenly eager, all his attention apparently being concentrated on me.

"You know, son", he started. "I work for a watch company. And the company went bankrupt. I have some very expensive watches with me. They normally retail for tens of thousands yen. But I have to make money somehow. You must have your pocket money, son. Here's a very lucky proposition. For you, it would be just 1000 yen. How about it, son? Would you like to buy it? Your mom and dad will be delighted"

The man showed me a watch. There was a logo on the face. "Longtimes", it said. "This is a very famous brand", the man assured. "You are very lucky to have this watch just for 1000 yen."

At that time, I knew nothing about watch brands. Some years later, I learned that there is a famous brand "Longines". The "Longtimes" watch was clearly a fake. And a very primitive one, too.

Although I did not possess the knowledge, I said "No, thank you." to the man. Kindly, but with a firmness that a 10 year old can command. There was something oily about the man which I mistrusted. Luckily, the man was not insistent. Maybe he thought I did not have the money with me. He shrugged his shoulders and went off. Although the man was apparently a swindler, I did not dislike the person.

To this day, I vividly remember the logo "Longtimes" on the watch. It has been literally "long times" since that childhood day. It is very strange to say so, but sometimes I wish I had bought the watch. Then perhaps I could have commemorated something. The vulnerability of life, the gullibility of the deceiving, and perhaps the pang that must accompany all living on this earth.

Alienation of the familiar

I flew to Paris from Narita. Right now I am in Charles de Gaulle airport, waiting for my plane to Berlin.

On the airplane soon after takeoff, there was an announcement to the effect that Mt. Fuji was visible on the left side. I looked out of the window. The highest mountain in Japan was seen in the far distance, with its peak just above the sea of clouds. What was striking was its metallic appearance. It was as an alien object, not really belonging to this world.

It was not the Mt. Fuji that I used to look at as a kid from the Shinkansen train. It was not the Mt. Fuji in a Hokusai ukiyo-e. The fact that a familiar thing suddenly appeared as something completely unknown left a lasting impression on me, and for the rest of the flight I was thinking of parallels, the alienation of the familiar.

Then I think the universe shivered and coughed, because I began to consider strange ideas like the possibility of a direct conversation with god.

The old teacher gets drunk again

The old teacher gets drunk again

I really love Yasujiro Ozu films.

When things get too busy and business becomes nasty as usual, I turn to the Ozu treasure trove. There, I find life as a tranquil harmony, where everything is human size. By getting immersed in the motion picture flow, I literally seek the salvation of the soul.

The other day I was watching "An Autumn Afternoon"again, the last film by the great director. To be precise, I did not have time to watch it. I just let the film go while being busy at work, capturing in the subconscious background the flow of lively conversations that is so typical of Ozu's masterpieces.

In it, the old teacher gets drunk again, after complaining how he is lonely in the final years of his life. The two former pupils, who have become company executives, look after the old teacher. The teacher sleeps on the floor, and then suddenly gets up. Forgetting all that has been said already, he looks at one of his former pupils in the eye, and, as if he realized what kind of situation he is in for the first time, says, "you are mister Hirayama, aren't you?" ("Hirayama san ka?"), and sleeps on the floor again.

It is at such a moment of human stupidity and fragility that makes one convinced of the love with which Ozu depicted our earthly lives. It is so poignant that one wants to cry and laugh at the same time.



The old boys drinking and discussing the plights of the old teacher. From "An Autumn Afternoon" by Yazujiro Ozu