For mammals like us, mothers play an essential role in life. Before the arrival of civilization, infants could not survive without the milk mothers provide. With the advent of artificial nourishments for the babies, mothers are still indispensable for our existence, especially in the early periods of life.
Thus, it is not surprising that we have developed a wide usage of the metaphor "mother".
For example, the expression "mother nature" has a deep resonance for a human being. Nature provides us with food, gives us protection, and supports our day to day life materially.
The mother nature metaphor is so natural to us that it is deeply unnerving and then ultimately revealing to realize that the universal concept has originated from the very particular condition in which our specific life style is to be kick-started and nurtured. It is an instance of a particular transforming itself to a universal.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Nobody home
It is sometimes said that Japanese culture is focused on the concept of emptiness. For example, some statues of worship in the Buddhist tradition in Japan is kept as "Hibutsu" or "Secret Buddha" (The Qualia Journal, 3rd July 2009).
A relative secret Buddha can be shown to public from time to time, whereas an absolute secret Buddha should never be shown.
A famous example of secret Buddha in the absolute sense is the "Gohonzon" (main statue of worship) of Zenkoji temple in Nagano. Nobody has seen or dared to see the figure in the recorded history, including the Buddhist priests that jealously guard the reclusive object of worship, which is rumored to be tightly wrapped up with white cloth.
The idea of secret Buddha is said to have been inspired by the Shinto tradition, where it is the norm that the object of worship is not explicitly shown. Sometimes natural landscapes such as a mountain is designated as the object of worship. Thus, the concept of emptiness is deeply rooted in the Japanese tradition.
On the way to a conference in Kagoshima yesterday, I was thinking again about emptiness. Everybody knows that the brain is the seat for mental phenomena. However, if you look into the inside of human brain, you find nothing but an endless network of neurons connected to each other through the synapses, with the glial cells filling the gap. The brain is thus "empty", as far as mental activities are concerned. No light illuminates the enchanted loom, and there is nobody home.
That the essence of mentality is actually emptiness is frightening on the surface but an ultimately reassuring thought. If the truth is to be found in emptiness, then we can access to an infinite source of freedom.
Nobody is home.
But then that is where our spiritual home is.
Definitely.
A relative secret Buddha can be shown to public from time to time, whereas an absolute secret Buddha should never be shown.
A famous example of secret Buddha in the absolute sense is the "Gohonzon" (main statue of worship) of Zenkoji temple in Nagano. Nobody has seen or dared to see the figure in the recorded history, including the Buddhist priests that jealously guard the reclusive object of worship, which is rumored to be tightly wrapped up with white cloth.
The idea of secret Buddha is said to have been inspired by the Shinto tradition, where it is the norm that the object of worship is not explicitly shown. Sometimes natural landscapes such as a mountain is designated as the object of worship. Thus, the concept of emptiness is deeply rooted in the Japanese tradition.
On the way to a conference in Kagoshima yesterday, I was thinking again about emptiness. Everybody knows that the brain is the seat for mental phenomena. However, if you look into the inside of human brain, you find nothing but an endless network of neurons connected to each other through the synapses, with the glial cells filling the gap. The brain is thus "empty", as far as mental activities are concerned. No light illuminates the enchanted loom, and there is nobody home.
That the essence of mentality is actually emptiness is frightening on the surface but an ultimately reassuring thought. If the truth is to be found in emptiness, then we can access to an infinite source of freedom.
Nobody is home.
But then that is where our spiritual home is.
Definitely.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
What is going on, in general?
In my all time favorite British sitcom Father Ted, there is a scene where Father Dougal MacGuire (the gullible one) asks a priest beside him about the situation they're in.
Dougal: What's going on?
Priest: I think Ted has a plan.
Dougal: No. I mean in general.
(From "A Christmassy Ted", broadcast in 1996 as the Christmas Special, currently viewable at youtube, the lingerie section scene being available in part 2 of 6. The remarks by Dougal above can be heard at about 3:50).
In this scene, the priests have mistakenly found themselves in "Ireland largest lingerie section" of a department store. In order to avoid a church scandal, Father Ted tries to lead the priests out of the lingerie section safely, without the customers noticing the presence of the priests. That is when Dougal makes this immortal remark.
"What is going on, in general?"
If the job of the brain is to function within a context, then Dougal's brain is sometimes out of context. There is yet genius in his gullible mind.
"What is going on, in general?"
It is nice to ask this stupid question. Understanding the context might lead to effective intellects, but asking what on earth is going on in the first place is sometimes heavenly and uplifting.
The Immortal Four. The cover of a Father Ted DVD.
Dougal: What's going on?
Priest: I think Ted has a plan.
Dougal: No. I mean in general.
(From "A Christmassy Ted", broadcast in 1996 as the Christmas Special, currently viewable at youtube, the lingerie section scene being available in part 2 of 6. The remarks by Dougal above can be heard at about 3:50).
In this scene, the priests have mistakenly found themselves in "Ireland largest lingerie section" of a department store. In order to avoid a church scandal, Father Ted tries to lead the priests out of the lingerie section safely, without the customers noticing the presence of the priests. That is when Dougal makes this immortal remark.
"What is going on, in general?"
If the job of the brain is to function within a context, then Dougal's brain is sometimes out of context. There is yet genius in his gullible mind.
"What is going on, in general?"
It is nice to ask this stupid question. Understanding the context might lead to effective intellects, but asking what on earth is going on in the first place is sometimes heavenly and uplifting.
The Immortal Four. The cover of a Father Ted DVD.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Book signings
I sometimes do book signings. My record was when I signed about 300 books in Kochi. That was strenuous.
When I sign my book, I always add a small illustration. It all started with a tree and a bird perched on it. The tree symbolizes my name ("Mogi"). The bird presents some lovely things that visit my way in life.
Over the years, the illustrations have changed. My recent favorite is "an erupting volcano", under which I write the words "explode!". Needless to say, I write my name, too.
From time to time, I try to draw a different illustration for every book brought before me. That is when my brain is put to the most difficult labor. I can feel the circuits within me pressed hard against the wall.
Book signings are like ascetic trainings.
When I sign my book, I always add a small illustration. It all started with a tree and a bird perched on it. The tree symbolizes my name ("Mogi"). The bird presents some lovely things that visit my way in life.
Over the years, the illustrations have changed. My recent favorite is "an erupting volcano", under which I write the words "explode!". Needless to say, I write my name, too.
From time to time, I try to draw a different illustration for every book brought before me. That is when my brain is put to the most difficult labor. I can feel the circuits within me pressed hard against the wall.
Book signings are like ascetic trainings.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Childhood follies
When I was a kid, I used to love reading "One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich" by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. This short story depicts the passage of a particular day for a prisoner, Ivan Denisovich Shukhov in the Soviet labor camp in the Stalinist era. I liked the story so much that I read it again and again and yet again. Needless to say, I read the Japanese translation (by Hiroshi Kimura) at that time.
Towards the end of this novel, the protagonist is lucky enough to get hold of a piece of sausage from his fellow prisoner, Tsezar Markovich. Tsezar is rich, and from time to time receives a box of goodies sent from his family. Ivan Denisovich is poor, but he has his wits and enterprising spirits which occasionally earn him the bonuses.
Now, at the end of yet another long and laborious day, Ivan Denisovich is able to taste the delicious food that has become his.
"He himself took the lump of sausage — and popped it into his mouth. Get the teeth to it. Chew, chew, chew! Lovely meaty smell! Meat juice, the real thing. Down it went, into his belly."
(from the translation by H.T. Willets)
I was fascinated by this description of the joy to be discovered in the simple act of eating a piece sausage. Then I had to put imagination into practice.
In those days, they sold a small piece of "salami" sausage in the stores. When I got the feeling, I would buy a piece of salami,
and gingerly come back home. Imagining that I was Ivan Denisovich himself on the prisoner's bed, I would chew the sausage slowly, and then finally swallow it.
"Meat juice, the real thing".
I remember I repeated this ceremony many, many times.
Those childhood follies taught me, in essence, that there is glory and joy even in the darkest moments of deprivation.
Towards the end of this novel, the protagonist is lucky enough to get hold of a piece of sausage from his fellow prisoner, Tsezar Markovich. Tsezar is rich, and from time to time receives a box of goodies sent from his family. Ivan Denisovich is poor, but he has his wits and enterprising spirits which occasionally earn him the bonuses.
Now, at the end of yet another long and laborious day, Ivan Denisovich is able to taste the delicious food that has become his.
"He himself took the lump of sausage — and popped it into his mouth. Get the teeth to it. Chew, chew, chew! Lovely meaty smell! Meat juice, the real thing. Down it went, into his belly."
(from the translation by H.T. Willets)
I was fascinated by this description of the joy to be discovered in the simple act of eating a piece sausage. Then I had to put imagination into practice.
In those days, they sold a small piece of "salami" sausage in the stores. When I got the feeling, I would buy a piece of salami,
and gingerly come back home. Imagining that I was Ivan Denisovich himself on the prisoner's bed, I would chew the sausage slowly, and then finally swallow it.
"Meat juice, the real thing".
I remember I repeated this ceremony many, many times.
Those childhood follies taught me, in essence, that there is glory and joy even in the darkest moments of deprivation.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I shall doubt myself today
I saw a bunch of people shouting slogans on the street. It is a free country, and people can say anything they like, but when people exhibit the signs of mental closure, it saddens and frightens me tremendously.
Nothing is to be avoided in this life than an absolute conviction that one is right. A grain of salt, a dash of self-doubt is all you need to breathe the air of life.
So I shall doubt myself today. And the wind begins to blow.
From twitter:
kenmogi
Hello world! I was born today. I greet you for the first time. How marvelous the things. Freedom is a greeting of the first encounter.
Nothing is to be avoided in this life than an absolute conviction that one is right. A grain of salt, a dash of self-doubt is all you need to breathe the air of life.
So I shall doubt myself today. And the wind begins to blow.
From twitter:
kenmogi
Hello world! I was born today. I greet you for the first time. How marvelous the things. Freedom is a greeting of the first encounter.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Contagious
On a cold day recently, I was walking past the streets of Yamagata, looking for a place to console my soul and fill my stomach. I had finished a full day of intensive work.
Yamagata is two and half hours train ride from Tokyo on the Shinkansen train. It is not a place which people would normally expect to be rich in the genesis of culture, high or pop. But I simply knew otherwise.
The internet has been here for 10 years, more or less. Yet people still have this funny idea that there are centers and peripheries. I have always revolted against the conventional thinking since my childhood, and I cannot really stand the misconception that you have to be in Tokyo, London, Paris, New York, and other "cultural centers" in order to lead an intellectually stimulating life. With the advent of the web, the tap for deep information is everywhere. The limits are inner, not outer.
The key is contagion. Once you get infected by a virus of passion, you can bring the vibe anywhere. The crucial point is in that first exposure.
As far as I have a very clear idea of what the manifestations of a true intellect and devoted artists are, I can go anywhere. I would be happy to live in a quiet corner, and have a feverish life culturally. The volcano that is inside me will be connected to the world through the broadband of senses. I and my close friends would be the center of the world.
I would like to be contagious, and get infected. Even if we are vehicles for memes, there is an infinitely rich life in it.
Yamagata is two and half hours train ride from Tokyo on the Shinkansen train. It is not a place which people would normally expect to be rich in the genesis of culture, high or pop. But I simply knew otherwise.
The internet has been here for 10 years, more or less. Yet people still have this funny idea that there are centers and peripheries. I have always revolted against the conventional thinking since my childhood, and I cannot really stand the misconception that you have to be in Tokyo, London, Paris, New York, and other "cultural centers" in order to lead an intellectually stimulating life. With the advent of the web, the tap for deep information is everywhere. The limits are inner, not outer.
The key is contagion. Once you get infected by a virus of passion, you can bring the vibe anywhere. The crucial point is in that first exposure.
As far as I have a very clear idea of what the manifestations of a true intellect and devoted artists are, I can go anywhere. I would be happy to live in a quiet corner, and have a feverish life culturally. The volcano that is inside me will be connected to the world through the broadband of senses. I and my close friends would be the center of the world.
I would like to be contagious, and get infected. Even if we are vehicles for memes, there is an infinitely rich life in it.
Monday, October 26, 2009
A massacre of possibilities
Today, the qualia journal celebrates 150 days of continuous entries, the streak starting on the 6th of June 2009.
Hooray!
I do not know why I have not done such a thing earlier. But then life is always like that, doing essential things too late too little.
Going through the every day is like trying to manage while being pressed against the wall. I am sure that by attending to a particular thing you lose track of others. Life is a infinite series of choices, forced, and sometimes out of rhythm, and yet you've got to keep your stiff upper lip.
Ken Shiotani, my best philosopher friend, once said that to live is like to experience a massacre of possibilities. You follow a particular trail, and at that moment precisely, an infinite number of alternatives perish.
I remember quite vividly the evening on which I and Ken Shiotani the fat philosopher talked about the inevitable mass death. I think we were talking about his former girl friend. We were on the river bank.
Hooray!
I do not know why I have not done such a thing earlier. But then life is always like that, doing essential things too late too little.
Going through the every day is like trying to manage while being pressed against the wall. I am sure that by attending to a particular thing you lose track of others. Life is a infinite series of choices, forced, and sometimes out of rhythm, and yet you've got to keep your stiff upper lip.
Ken Shiotani, my best philosopher friend, once said that to live is like to experience a massacre of possibilities. You follow a particular trail, and at that moment precisely, an infinite number of alternatives perish.
I remember quite vividly the evening on which I and Ken Shiotani the fat philosopher talked about the inevitable mass death. I think we were talking about his former girl friend. We were on the river bank.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Imagining liberates
Recently, I received a very nice mail from a gentleman in Thailand. In it, he said some kind words about one of my books which has been translated to Thai. In the answer, I told him that to my regret, I have never visited the beautiful country so far, but hope to do so in the near future.
I know King Bhumibol Adulyadej Thailand, who has reigned since 1946, is ill. I can only imagine how the king's illness is affecting the Thai people. My compassion and best wishes for the Thai people.
As Ludwig Wittgenstein remarked, there's probably no private language. Intersubjectivity is the hallmark of any speech. On the other hand, each language defines a universe of its own. The English enshrines one, the Japanese creates another, and the Thai gives life to yet another cosmos in which there are numerous entities around.
To be born and grow up in one linguistic universe results in a unique world. Your neighbour is invisible, unless you make a conscious effort to immigrate. This blog itself is an experiment in that direction by somebody who started to learn English at the age of 12.
The mail from the Thai gentleman gave me thoughts. I imagined having been born and grown up in the country of smiles. I imagined being worried about and wishing the best for King Bhumibol Adulyadej.
Imagining liberates, by putting more life to circulate in one's system.
I know King Bhumibol Adulyadej Thailand, who has reigned since 1946, is ill. I can only imagine how the king's illness is affecting the Thai people. My compassion and best wishes for the Thai people.
As Ludwig Wittgenstein remarked, there's probably no private language. Intersubjectivity is the hallmark of any speech. On the other hand, each language defines a universe of its own. The English enshrines one, the Japanese creates another, and the Thai gives life to yet another cosmos in which there are numerous entities around.
To be born and grow up in one linguistic universe results in a unique world. Your neighbour is invisible, unless you make a conscious effort to immigrate. This blog itself is an experiment in that direction by somebody who started to learn English at the age of 12.
The mail from the Thai gentleman gave me thoughts. I imagined having been born and grown up in the country of smiles. I imagined being worried about and wishing the best for King Bhumibol Adulyadej.
Imagining liberates, by putting more life to circulate in one's system.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Masahiko and Katherine
I was having a conversation with my best friend Masahiko Shimada at a public lecture in Tokyo. Masahiko is a famous writer. Masahiko opened the dialogue with a criticism of the global capitalism. Then our topic shifted to how we all invariably fail.
Failure comes from facing the truth. In our mind, across our hearts, there are elements which lead to demise of the protagonist if he or she is true to them. The world is after all an imperfect place. Following the inner voice inevitably leads to disaster. Heroes and villains fail alike.
The good thing is that there will be always reincarnations, in this life.
In this life.
On the way to the public lecture I suddenly remembered how I used to love the short stories by Katherine Mansfield. The qualia in "The Garden Party" resonated as I headed for the imagined kingdom of freedom and demise.
Failure comes from facing the truth. In our mind, across our hearts, there are elements which lead to demise of the protagonist if he or she is true to them. The world is after all an imperfect place. Following the inner voice inevitably leads to disaster. Heroes and villains fail alike.
The good thing is that there will be always reincarnations, in this life.
In this life.
On the way to the public lecture I suddenly remembered how I used to love the short stories by Katherine Mansfield. The qualia in "The Garden Party" resonated as I headed for the imagined kingdom of freedom and demise.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Original sin
On the airplane, I was thinking again about Glenn Gould.
In an earlier post ("Private language of music", 14th October 2009), I wrote:
I have a hunch why Gould refrained from playing in the public later in his career. The presence of attentive minds is a great stimulator. On the other hand, it sometimes stimulates one in a vulgar way. One would like to entertain, and therefore goes out of the way. A great art lies there, so it is not necessarily a bad thing. However, it is at the same time a distraction from purity, which Gould probably hated.
For a performer like Vladimir Horowitz, the audience is a godsend. Gould, on the other hand, thrived in the absolute privacy.
The crucial thing is that the very nature of music is transformed in the presence of others. We are social beings, and confronting others come so naturally to us. However, it also affects our existence. Maybe it is the original sin.
In a sense, Glenn Gould was trying the impossible. How to make music without the presence of an audience. It is like forgetting how one looked in the mirror. Knowledge has tainted our consciousness, and we simply cannot go back. The bliss of ignorance is never to return, not even as a momentary lapse, as in the unconscious there would be always knowledge.
Sometimes beauty holds a terrible truth. Gould's music is a Pandora's box.
In an earlier post ("Private language of music", 14th October 2009), I wrote:
I have a hunch why Gould refrained from playing in the public later in his career. The presence of attentive minds is a great stimulator. On the other hand, it sometimes stimulates one in a vulgar way. One would like to entertain, and therefore goes out of the way. A great art lies there, so it is not necessarily a bad thing. However, it is at the same time a distraction from purity, which Gould probably hated.
For a performer like Vladimir Horowitz, the audience is a godsend. Gould, on the other hand, thrived in the absolute privacy.
The crucial thing is that the very nature of music is transformed in the presence of others. We are social beings, and confronting others come so naturally to us. However, it also affects our existence. Maybe it is the original sin.
In a sense, Glenn Gould was trying the impossible. How to make music without the presence of an audience. It is like forgetting how one looked in the mirror. Knowledge has tainted our consciousness, and we simply cannot go back. The bliss of ignorance is never to return, not even as a momentary lapse, as in the unconscious there would be always knowledge.
Sometimes beauty holds a terrible truth. Gould's music is a Pandora's box.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Secretly mischievous
I was walking to NHK, and going through the Yoyogi park. Near the entrance, there is a shop where they sell beer, drinks, and miscellaneous things.
It was a find day. The sun was setting in the Western horizon. And I bought a color ball.
It is a soft ball made of plastic, something that I used to play with when I was a kid. I don't know why I bought it. The idea somehow captured me.
I threw and caught it with my hands several times, and then put it into my backpack.
Once in NHK, I behaved like a normal adult, pretending that something like a color ball never had anything to do with my serious life.
All the while, I felt secretly mischievous. With a color ball, when nobody is around, you can always go back to five year old.
Later in the evening, I passed the security gate at Haneda airport with the color ball in my bag. I winced a little, but needless to say, the alarm did not sound.
Now I am with the color ball in the southern city of Kochi. The freedom to be a little mischievous is still with me.
It was a find day. The sun was setting in the Western horizon. And I bought a color ball.
It is a soft ball made of plastic, something that I used to play with when I was a kid. I don't know why I bought it. The idea somehow captured me.
I threw and caught it with my hands several times, and then put it into my backpack.
Once in NHK, I behaved like a normal adult, pretending that something like a color ball never had anything to do with my serious life.
All the while, I felt secretly mischievous. With a color ball, when nobody is around, you can always go back to five year old.
Later in the evening, I passed the security gate at Haneda airport with the color ball in my bag. I winced a little, but needless to say, the alarm did not sound.
Now I am with the color ball in the southern city of Kochi. The freedom to be a little mischievous is still with me.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Despised and rejected
It was late, as I finally made my way towards home. I was alone in the street, with the hush of night surrounding my existence.
As often happens in such a situation, I thought of the miracle of our existence. I don't understand. Why am I here and now? How come there are these elementary particles flying all over the place, with natural laws governing them all?
13.7 billions years of physical abundance, and presto, we are here, as conscious beings, the enigma of the mind-body remaining unsolvable as in the days of Baruch Spinoza. The efforts towards the solution have not moved an inch.
I am not associated with any organized religion. However, at such moments I am convinced of an order beyond human comprehension, which we might refer to in the name of God, not necessarily meaning human-like, but some "entity" responsible for the whole thing.
Among those who consider themselves rational, the very idea tends to be rejected, as something that belongs to prejudices and superstitions of past times.
The Bible describes the life's processions of Jesus Christ with poetic precision of human psychology. The observation is keen and without mercy.
He was despised and rejected.
"He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering (Isaiah)."
What the Bible describes in this great passage about the fall of the savior has always been a source of inspiration for me.
What is essential and fundamental can be despised and rejected, as if it was worthless, something to be disposed of.
This truth, put to beautiful music by George Frideric Handel in Messiah, is something to be cherished and thought over when you approach an idea which tends to be ridiculed by the intellects of the day.
As often happens in such a situation, I thought of the miracle of our existence. I don't understand. Why am I here and now? How come there are these elementary particles flying all over the place, with natural laws governing them all?
13.7 billions years of physical abundance, and presto, we are here, as conscious beings, the enigma of the mind-body remaining unsolvable as in the days of Baruch Spinoza. The efforts towards the solution have not moved an inch.
I am not associated with any organized religion. However, at such moments I am convinced of an order beyond human comprehension, which we might refer to in the name of God, not necessarily meaning human-like, but some "entity" responsible for the whole thing.
Among those who consider themselves rational, the very idea tends to be rejected, as something that belongs to prejudices and superstitions of past times.
The Bible describes the life's processions of Jesus Christ with poetic precision of human psychology. The observation is keen and without mercy.
He was despised and rejected.
"He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering (Isaiah)."
What the Bible describes in this great passage about the fall of the savior has always been a source of inspiration for me.
What is essential and fundamental can be despised and rejected, as if it was worthless, something to be disposed of.
This truth, put to beautiful music by George Frideric Handel in Messiah, is something to be cherished and thought over when you approach an idea which tends to be ridiculed by the intellects of the day.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
The next big thing
In life what you see in the periphery is often more important than what you observe in the central vision.
If your attention is stuck, then you do not have the flexibility to move your mind around, and capture what is transient and disappearing ever and ever.
Catch it if you can. The essential and important things often play hide and seek with your mind. There, in the corner of your visual field, the next big thing is secretly throbbing with excitement, for you to discover and make a contact of the soul.
If your attention is stuck, then you do not have the flexibility to move your mind around, and capture what is transient and disappearing ever and ever.
Catch it if you can. The essential and important things often play hide and seek with your mind. There, in the corner of your visual field, the next big thing is secretly throbbing with excitement, for you to discover and make a contact of the soul.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Enjoy the clumsiness
One of the things I am quite sure is that when I have spare time I know how to spend it.
Without money, left alone from the world at large, I would think of loads of ways to entertain myself. I am a proclaimed self-entertainer. I would never be at a loss what to do in the next few hours.
Recently, when I was on the road, I thought of another way of entertaining myself. Left hand drawing. I am a right hander, and have almost never used the left hand to draw or write. Maybe I was a bit drunk at that time. What happened was that while I was in a hotel room, I thought hey let's draw with my left hand. Let's enjoy the clumsiness.
Enjoy the clumsiness I did. Drawing with the other hand proved to be such a fun. Much better than these "brain drills" advertised in the media, like damn calculations and repetitive puzzles.
The degree of freedom involved in drawing is incredible. There is a whole universe in it. There are big bangs and white holes. Although at every step the clumsiness of the left hand tended to let me down, I weathered on, hugely enjoying the whole thing.
Stating the obvious, as the left hand is controlled by the right brain, using it can enhance the emotive hemisphere, which is a bonus to the fun.
My proposition is thus simple. Don't you ever be bored by life. There are numerous ways that you could entertain your own brain. The only limit is your imagination.
My left hand drawing number 3. Untitled.
Without money, left alone from the world at large, I would think of loads of ways to entertain myself. I am a proclaimed self-entertainer. I would never be at a loss what to do in the next few hours.
Recently, when I was on the road, I thought of another way of entertaining myself. Left hand drawing. I am a right hander, and have almost never used the left hand to draw or write. Maybe I was a bit drunk at that time. What happened was that while I was in a hotel room, I thought hey let's draw with my left hand. Let's enjoy the clumsiness.
Enjoy the clumsiness I did. Drawing with the other hand proved to be such a fun. Much better than these "brain drills" advertised in the media, like damn calculations and repetitive puzzles.
The degree of freedom involved in drawing is incredible. There is a whole universe in it. There are big bangs and white holes. Although at every step the clumsiness of the left hand tended to let me down, I weathered on, hugely enjoying the whole thing.
Stating the obvious, as the left hand is controlled by the right brain, using it can enhance the emotive hemisphere, which is a bonus to the fun.
My proposition is thus simple. Don't you ever be bored by life. There are numerous ways that you could entertain your own brain. The only limit is your imagination.
My left hand drawing number 3. Untitled.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Starry apparitions
As a kid I used to dream of starry apparitions.
I would be lying on the ground looking up at the night sky. While observing the twinkling stars, there is suddenly a great transformation of things. The lights become brighter, and the milky way literally turns into a ever changing river of white liquid entity filling and dancing in the overall.
Intriguingly, great wheels would appear and turn in the sky. From time to time, steam locomotives made of constellations would emerge and cross the visual field. All sorts of heavenly machinery would start appearing here and there, with their unique motions and styles of presences.
The scenery fills me with awe, and my excitement would grow uncontrollably until it invariably culminates in a gasp.
At that moment of shuddering sensations, I would regain consciousness.
I would find myself wide awake in bed, wondering whence these wondrous images came.
Although quite fantastic out of proportion and unpredictable in emergence, those visions of starry apparitions are cherished gemstones in the chest of my life's memory.
I would be lying on the ground looking up at the night sky. While observing the twinkling stars, there is suddenly a great transformation of things. The lights become brighter, and the milky way literally turns into a ever changing river of white liquid entity filling and dancing in the overall.
Intriguingly, great wheels would appear and turn in the sky. From time to time, steam locomotives made of constellations would emerge and cross the visual field. All sorts of heavenly machinery would start appearing here and there, with their unique motions and styles of presences.
The scenery fills me with awe, and my excitement would grow uncontrollably until it invariably culminates in a gasp.
At that moment of shuddering sensations, I would regain consciousness.
I would find myself wide awake in bed, wondering whence these wondrous images came.
Although quite fantastic out of proportion and unpredictable in emergence, those visions of starry apparitions are cherished gemstones in the chest of my life's memory.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Bullet
From yesterday's twitter entry.
kenmogi
Have become the world's fastest leopard. 7C of the 9th in Shinkansen heading for Kyoto. Correction. Orangutan, rather than leopard.
I like to be idle on the bullet train. It is the utmost luxury given the hectic schedule that I am usually exposed to.
You close your laptop, and throw your legs out. You put the seat to the reclining position, then close your eyes.
The sunshine is emanating from mount Fuji. You become sweetly dizzy embraced by the gold. Memory of the past times resurge with a pang. You move in the chair a bit uneasily, as if to assimilate the upheaval in the psyche with the mass of your body.
While all this is happening, you are speeding at 300 kilometers per hour.
You have become a bullet.
A bullet conventionally kills, but this one nurtures.
It nurtures your idleness, until it grows out of proportion, shrinks again as the train arrives at your destination.
The magic is gone, and you are free to do whatever practical things you'd like.
The session is over.
kenmogi
Have become the world's fastest leopard. 7C of the 9th in Shinkansen heading for Kyoto. Correction. Orangutan, rather than leopard.
I like to be idle on the bullet train. It is the utmost luxury given the hectic schedule that I am usually exposed to.
You close your laptop, and throw your legs out. You put the seat to the reclining position, then close your eyes.
The sunshine is emanating from mount Fuji. You become sweetly dizzy embraced by the gold. Memory of the past times resurge with a pang. You move in the chair a bit uneasily, as if to assimilate the upheaval in the psyche with the mass of your body.
While all this is happening, you are speeding at 300 kilometers per hour.
You have become a bullet.
A bullet conventionally kills, but this one nurtures.
It nurtures your idleness, until it grows out of proportion, shrinks again as the train arrives at your destination.
The magic is gone, and you are free to do whatever practical things you'd like.
The session is over.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Deviation
I usually take a morning stroll to a convenience store nearby, and pick up some morning goods. For the last couple of days, I have walked on to the park, and dashed up the hill that flanks the woods.
It is just a little deviation, which makes all the difference. In life, you turn 90 degrees and run from your path of everyday, and then you discover a new scenery.
It is not that difficult. All you have to do is to identify an unsearched domain. And then you delve into it. Even for a very brief time.
Within a moment the storm of contingency would rage. The conviction that you are here for no reason. You taste the throbbing sensation of knowing you could have been quite another, while loving and embracing the here and now.
From a recent twitter entry.
kenmogi
Mediocrity hurts. The remedy is the sky.
http://twitter.com/kenmogi
It is just a little deviation, which makes all the difference. In life, you turn 90 degrees and run from your path of everyday, and then you discover a new scenery.
It is not that difficult. All you have to do is to identify an unsearched domain. And then you delve into it. Even for a very brief time.
Within a moment the storm of contingency would rage. The conviction that you are here for no reason. You taste the throbbing sensation of knowing you could have been quite another, while loving and embracing the here and now.
From a recent twitter entry.
kenmogi
Mediocrity hurts. The remedy is the sky.
http://twitter.com/kenmogi
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Flower petals in the wind.
At the end of another busy day, I went to Kazahana in the Shinjuku district. Kazahana is a legendary literary bar. "Kazahana" ("flower petals in the wind") is the poetic Japanese word for snowflakes.
I did not intend to stay for long, but simply had to drop by, psychologically needing the sojourn.
Earlier, I was meeting with the novelist Makoto Shiina. Mr. Shiina is one of Japan's great weapons of the literary genre. After Mr. Shiina left, I felt rather lonely, and was naturally drawn to my favorite hanging-out place. I was with an editor and a freelance writer.
On the day, I still had several things to do. The ongoing rain occasionally became strong. The sound of drops falling was a testimony of the nuisance once outside. Listening to the sound, we became gradually uneasy.
How many ups and downs of emotion one encounters during the course of a day. Science does not tell you still.
I know from experience that when you're down, with perseverance, things would eventually improve, the clouds in the mind clearing.
Earlier, I was weeping spiritually, inside. Before long, the tears froze to become snowflakes. The snowflakes then danced in the invisible air.
Snow is the materialization of love that penetrates all life. We must observe the dynamics within, while falling, rising, and then falling again, like dancing flower petals in the wind.
I did not intend to stay for long, but simply had to drop by, psychologically needing the sojourn.
Earlier, I was meeting with the novelist Makoto Shiina. Mr. Shiina is one of Japan's great weapons of the literary genre. After Mr. Shiina left, I felt rather lonely, and was naturally drawn to my favorite hanging-out place. I was with an editor and a freelance writer.
On the day, I still had several things to do. The ongoing rain occasionally became strong. The sound of drops falling was a testimony of the nuisance once outside. Listening to the sound, we became gradually uneasy.
How many ups and downs of emotion one encounters during the course of a day. Science does not tell you still.
I know from experience that when you're down, with perseverance, things would eventually improve, the clouds in the mind clearing.
Earlier, I was weeping spiritually, inside. Before long, the tears froze to become snowflakes. The snowflakes then danced in the invisible air.
Snow is the materialization of love that penetrates all life. We must observe the dynamics within, while falling, rising, and then falling again, like dancing flower petals in the wind.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Private language of music
I love the film in which Glenn Gould plays the Goldberg Variations. What a beautiful procession! Aria, 30 variations, and then aria again. At the end of the finger maneuvers, Gould holds his hands together in a gesture in which he appears to be praying. Then his whole performance impresses one as a dedication to the spirit of music, with a beautiful hindsight.
I love this set of variations from the great composer, J. S. Bach. The 30th variation, with its jovial start, always strikes me as if a huge plateful of delicious dish was being carried from the kitchen with great solemnity, to the shining eyes of the beholders.
I have a hunch why Gould refrained from playing in the public later in his career. The presence of attentive minds is a great stimulator. On the other hand, it sometimes stimulates one in a vulgar way. One would like to entertain, and therefore goes out of the way. A great art lies there, so it is not necessarily a bad thing. However, it is at the same time a distraction from purity, which Gould probably hated.
For a performer like Vladimir Horowitz, the audience is a godsend. Gould, on the other hand, thrived in the absolute privacy.
Gould's music is as close as one can come to the impossibility of the private language of music, sensu Ludwig Wittgenstein.
I love this set of variations from the great composer, J. S. Bach. The 30th variation, with its jovial start, always strikes me as if a huge plateful of delicious dish was being carried from the kitchen with great solemnity, to the shining eyes of the beholders.
I have a hunch why Gould refrained from playing in the public later in his career. The presence of attentive minds is a great stimulator. On the other hand, it sometimes stimulates one in a vulgar way. One would like to entertain, and therefore goes out of the way. A great art lies there, so it is not necessarily a bad thing. However, it is at the same time a distraction from purity, which Gould probably hated.
For a performer like Vladimir Horowitz, the audience is a godsend. Gould, on the other hand, thrived in the absolute privacy.
Gould's music is as close as one can come to the impossibility of the private language of music, sensu Ludwig Wittgenstein.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
The school hike.
I love autumn when the sky is blue and high. My best stroll would be along a river bank, where the autumn flowers display their miscellaneous colors while swaying to and fro in the wind. Dragon flies would display their glistening of the wings in the crystal bright autumn sunbeam. I would like to walk very slowly, without goal, without aim, and breathe in the air as if it was a nectar for the soul, every minute, every second.
I particularly remember a school hike in the junior high, when we went all the way to the river from school. I was fourteen. Once on the river bank, we pupils strolled along the path, playing with cosmos flowers and autumn butterflies.
We all wore the tedious orange color school trainer, but even that fact did not hinder us from enjoying the walk. The issue was mainly about spatial distribution. Who walked where, with whom. The parallels of our existence filled us with inexplicable joys and pangs, rather like a short story by Katherine Mansfield, or a pointillism painting by Georges-Pierre Seurat.
I was foolish, and considered the hike as something that belongs to yearly regularities. I was unconsciously thinking that there would be many repeats of a hike like the one on that day. I was to learn later, only too late, that the onceness in life was to pass and gone forever.
I am bewildered even today how on earth the school hike took place on that particular day, like a miracle, without any photographic record to support my recollection. Only this vivid picture in my mind pointing to the now uncertain past stays alive.
I particularly remember a school hike in the junior high, when we went all the way to the river from school. I was fourteen. Once on the river bank, we pupils strolled along the path, playing with cosmos flowers and autumn butterflies.
We all wore the tedious orange color school trainer, but even that fact did not hinder us from enjoying the walk. The issue was mainly about spatial distribution. Who walked where, with whom. The parallels of our existence filled us with inexplicable joys and pangs, rather like a short story by Katherine Mansfield, or a pointillism painting by Georges-Pierre Seurat.
I was foolish, and considered the hike as something that belongs to yearly regularities. I was unconsciously thinking that there would be many repeats of a hike like the one on that day. I was to learn later, only too late, that the onceness in life was to pass and gone forever.
I am bewildered even today how on earth the school hike took place on that particular day, like a miracle, without any photographic record to support my recollection. Only this vivid picture in my mind pointing to the now uncertain past stays alive.
Monday, October 12, 2009
They can't know.
"De Profundis" is a work in the form of a letter that Oscar Wilde wrote during his time in prison. In it, there is this beautiful passage.
--------------
The more mechanical people...always know where they are going, and go there...A man whose desire is to be something separate from himself, to be a Member of Parliament, or a successful grocer, or a prominent solicitor, or a judge, or something equally tedious, invariably succeeds in being what he wants to be.
That is his punishment. Those who want a mask have to wear it. But with the dynamic forces of life...it is different. People whose desire is solely for self-realization never know where they are going. They can't know.
----------------
One never knows where one is going, if one follows one's inner voice. How true.
There is glory in being lost. Not knowing where to go, one encounters the vastness of the universe face to face.
--------------
The more mechanical people...always know where they are going, and go there...A man whose desire is to be something separate from himself, to be a Member of Parliament, or a successful grocer, or a prominent solicitor, or a judge, or something equally tedious, invariably succeeds in being what he wants to be.
That is his punishment. Those who want a mask have to wear it. But with the dynamic forces of life...it is different. People whose desire is solely for self-realization never know where they are going. They can't know.
----------------
One never knows where one is going, if one follows one's inner voice. How true.
There is glory in being lost. Not knowing where to go, one encounters the vastness of the universe face to face.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
When friends and lovers meet
It is a remarkable aspect of human cognition that when something passes, it remains unnoticed for a long time. We recognize the golden time of childhood only when we have lost it.
Used to be that when friends and lovers meet, they would make appointments quite well in advance, designating subway stations and landmarks as the point of meeting. Then something would happen. When the time passes and the counterpart does not show up, anxiety and uneasiness would grow in the heart. Every minute that passes becomes a dance in suspension. And then, the final relief when your boy friend or girl friend appears around the corner. The sunshine has come out of the clouds again. O what joy!
Now, with the advent of the mobile phone and other means of communication, the torture and bliss of waiting is gone forever. With the SMS and emails and calls, you can "adjust" the meeting point in space and time anyway and as many times as you like. When you look back on how it was 20 years or even 10 years ago, you realize that an era has passed, for ever and ever.
Ken Shiotani, my beloved philosopher friend, is the only one that I know closely who does not possess a mobile phone. So I do have the now ancient joy of the suspense of waiting when I make appointments with Ken Shiotani. His manners of independence from the mobile network might be outdated these days. But he does remind me how sweet and fragrant the yesterdays were.
Used to be that when friends and lovers meet, they would make appointments quite well in advance, designating subway stations and landmarks as the point of meeting. Then something would happen. When the time passes and the counterpart does not show up, anxiety and uneasiness would grow in the heart. Every minute that passes becomes a dance in suspension. And then, the final relief when your boy friend or girl friend appears around the corner. The sunshine has come out of the clouds again. O what joy!
Now, with the advent of the mobile phone and other means of communication, the torture and bliss of waiting is gone forever. With the SMS and emails and calls, you can "adjust" the meeting point in space and time anyway and as many times as you like. When you look back on how it was 20 years or even 10 years ago, you realize that an era has passed, for ever and ever.
Ken Shiotani, my beloved philosopher friend, is the only one that I know closely who does not possess a mobile phone. So I do have the now ancient joy of the suspense of waiting when I make appointments with Ken Shiotani. His manners of independence from the mobile network might be outdated these days. But he does remind me how sweet and fragrant the yesterdays were.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
No award is premature
The decision of the Nobel committee to award Mr. Barack Obama the Nobel Peace Prize was laudable. Some people might say that it has been premature. I disagree, considering the nature of the human mind.
With recognition comes self reflection, as recognition, by its very nature, involves the vision of the others. Recognition can and should be the basis for further development, within the context of the relations with others. With recognition one can step forward with increased courage. Mr. Obama is now likely to be more invigorated in his efforts to make the world a better place.
In elementary school, the teacher sometimes hands out awards. Considering that the recipients are very early in their "career" indeed, every recognition that a child receives is arguably premature. From the point of view of the development of the child, however, no award is premature.
It is nice to learn that the award committee of the world's most prestigious prize knows the human nature well.
With recognition comes self reflection, as recognition, by its very nature, involves the vision of the others. Recognition can and should be the basis for further development, within the context of the relations with others. With recognition one can step forward with increased courage. Mr. Obama is now likely to be more invigorated in his efforts to make the world a better place.
In elementary school, the teacher sometimes hands out awards. Considering that the recipients are very early in their "career" indeed, every recognition that a child receives is arguably premature. From the point of view of the development of the child, however, no award is premature.
It is nice to learn that the award committee of the world's most prestigious prize knows the human nature well.
Friday, October 09, 2009
Couldn't swallow the pills.
When I was a kid, I found it really difficult to swallow the pills. It was not that the pills were particularly large. These were ordinary pills for the kids, prescribed by the doctor when the child had a cold, stomachache, etc.
When I got sick, I would go to see Dr. Hishikawa, who had the office near my parent's house. When Dr. Hishikawa said "I am going to give you some pills", I would wince, as I knew that I was going to have a hard time swallowing one.
From the perspectives of adulthood, it is difficult to explain why it was so difficult for me as a child to swallow the pills. It was partly psychological. I simply could not take the pills down the throat, no matter how hard I tried.
My mother would say, "what if the doctor told you that you are going to die if you don't swallow this pill?"
I could not figure out what I should do in such a circumstance. The plain fact was that I simply could not swallow the pills.
As a result, I always had to take powder medicine. Oh boy, these were bitter. My mother would say again and again, half jokingly and half reproaching, that I was inviting my own misfortune by being unable to take the pills.
Many years later, when I read "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" by Friedrich Nietzsche, I came across the famous narrative of a man who was bitten by a snake in the throat. Then I remembered my childhood miseries, and felt that the whole experience was rather like this episode in the philosophical novel.
I was six or so when I was finally able to swallow a pill down the throat. I remember the sensation quite vividly.
In Zarathustra, the unfortunate man finally rises by biting of the snake head, and stands, with his eyes glittering like the blazing sun. The new man is born.
As I look back, it feels as if I saw the burning flame of life by being able to swallow the pill finally, at the mature age of six.
When I got sick, I would go to see Dr. Hishikawa, who had the office near my parent's house. When Dr. Hishikawa said "I am going to give you some pills", I would wince, as I knew that I was going to have a hard time swallowing one.
From the perspectives of adulthood, it is difficult to explain why it was so difficult for me as a child to swallow the pills. It was partly psychological. I simply could not take the pills down the throat, no matter how hard I tried.
My mother would say, "what if the doctor told you that you are going to die if you don't swallow this pill?"
I could not figure out what I should do in such a circumstance. The plain fact was that I simply could not swallow the pills.
As a result, I always had to take powder medicine. Oh boy, these were bitter. My mother would say again and again, half jokingly and half reproaching, that I was inviting my own misfortune by being unable to take the pills.
Many years later, when I read "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" by Friedrich Nietzsche, I came across the famous narrative of a man who was bitten by a snake in the throat. Then I remembered my childhood miseries, and felt that the whole experience was rather like this episode in the philosophical novel.
I was six or so when I was finally able to swallow a pill down the throat. I remember the sensation quite vividly.
In Zarathustra, the unfortunate man finally rises by biting of the snake head, and stands, with his eyes glittering like the blazing sun. The new man is born.
As I look back, it feels as if I saw the burning flame of life by being able to swallow the pill finally, at the mature age of six.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Typhoon No. 18.
Without even knowing it, one becomes a prisoner of one's own prejudices, I thought.
I was in a Tokyo bar as the typhoon number 18 approached the Honshu island.
Why cant we break it. How come we can't let free of the chains we are just imagining?
As my compatriots are in general rather restrained, I sometimes feel as if the imprisonment is mirrored into my own system. Implicit connotations are good thing for a culture, but sometimes it can also suffocate one.
The typhoon number 18 was approaching. It brought with it the tremendous energy of the south sea, where the temperature is high.
As I left the bar, a gush of wind blew against my umbrella. I almost wished that the umbrella would be destroyed, exposing me to the brutal forces of nature.
But it wasn't to be.
The typhoon No.18 approaching Honshu island.
From a Japanese weather forecast, 8 a.m., 8th October 2009.
I was in a Tokyo bar as the typhoon number 18 approached the Honshu island.
Why cant we break it. How come we can't let free of the chains we are just imagining?
As my compatriots are in general rather restrained, I sometimes feel as if the imprisonment is mirrored into my own system. Implicit connotations are good thing for a culture, but sometimes it can also suffocate one.
The typhoon number 18 was approaching. It brought with it the tremendous energy of the south sea, where the temperature is high.
As I left the bar, a gush of wind blew against my umbrella. I almost wished that the umbrella would be destroyed, exposing me to the brutal forces of nature.
But it wasn't to be.
The typhoon No.18 approaching Honshu island.
From a Japanese weather forecast, 8 a.m., 8th October 2009.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Wall that be.
I went to the Superdeluxe club in the Roppongi district of Tokyo. I was late, having finished my work for a broadcaster at 22 hours.
As I arrived at the scene, a young artist started fighting against the wall. He first scribed unintelligible words involving "peace" and " will", and then painted them all over in blue. He used the hands and pressed them very hardly against the wall, as if rebelling against it.
When young, you are naturally surrounded by many walls, both real and imagined. When you get older and become mature, being able to keep seeing the wall that be is one of the manifestations of a creative mind.
In life, you've got to face the wall, more or less, and it becomes incumbent to decide your attitudes toward it.
Painting. What fantastic way to come to terms with the wall. You don't destroy it. You dance with it. By becoming one with the wall, feeling its physical brutality, you can give birth to a monster that is art. And then the monster breathes beautiful air.
A young artist fighting the wall in Superdeluxe.
As I arrived at the scene, a young artist started fighting against the wall. He first scribed unintelligible words involving "peace" and " will", and then painted them all over in blue. He used the hands and pressed them very hardly against the wall, as if rebelling against it.
When young, you are naturally surrounded by many walls, both real and imagined. When you get older and become mature, being able to keep seeing the wall that be is one of the manifestations of a creative mind.
In life, you've got to face the wall, more or less, and it becomes incumbent to decide your attitudes toward it.
Painting. What fantastic way to come to terms with the wall. You don't destroy it. You dance with it. By becoming one with the wall, feeling its physical brutality, you can give birth to a monster that is art. And then the monster breathes beautiful air.
A young artist fighting the wall in Superdeluxe.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Watershed
The return of Soseki Natsume from the two years' stay in London, in retrospect, was a watershed in the cultural history of modern Japan.
Records show that he was an excellent writer of English. His knowledge of the English literature was vast and deep, reinforced by intensive readings of volumes of the genre during his stay in the United Kingdom. Had he chosen to do so, he could have started a successful career in English prose, rather like Mr. Kazuo Ishiguro of contemporary times.
However, history had it that Soseki chose to write novels in Japanese, much to the benefit and enrichment of the Japanese literature for sure, but effectively closing the Japanese mind at the same time.
To date, considering the significant presence of Japanese economy, it is astonishing that Japanese intellectuals have produced so little in English writings. Surely, natural scientists do write papers, but then the expressions tend to be dry and do not reflect the subtle nuances of living on the island. It is a remarkable fact that there has not been an active English voice based in Tokyo, The Japanese scholars, especially in the humanities, have been primarily importers rather than exporters.
The result is a void in which the inner visions have never found a channel for expression. Such novels as "Memoirs of a Geisha" has strange connotations seen from a insider's viewpoint, as if the proportions are distorted and feelings were trodden on. The film "The Last Samurai" was in many ways a joke in facts and sensitivities.
These misrepresentations are all due to the lack of vigor in Japanese intellectuals in expressing the insider's viewpoint in the lingua franca, to the loss of both the island inhabitors and people at large.
Records show that he was an excellent writer of English. His knowledge of the English literature was vast and deep, reinforced by intensive readings of volumes of the genre during his stay in the United Kingdom. Had he chosen to do so, he could have started a successful career in English prose, rather like Mr. Kazuo Ishiguro of contemporary times.
However, history had it that Soseki chose to write novels in Japanese, much to the benefit and enrichment of the Japanese literature for sure, but effectively closing the Japanese mind at the same time.
To date, considering the significant presence of Japanese economy, it is astonishing that Japanese intellectuals have produced so little in English writings. Surely, natural scientists do write papers, but then the expressions tend to be dry and do not reflect the subtle nuances of living on the island. It is a remarkable fact that there has not been an active English voice based in Tokyo, The Japanese scholars, especially in the humanities, have been primarily importers rather than exporters.
The result is a void in which the inner visions have never found a channel for expression. Such novels as "Memoirs of a Geisha" has strange connotations seen from a insider's viewpoint, as if the proportions are distorted and feelings were trodden on. The film "The Last Samurai" was in many ways a joke in facts and sensitivities.
These misrepresentations are all due to the lack of vigor in Japanese intellectuals in expressing the insider's viewpoint in the lingua franca, to the loss of both the island inhabitors and people at large.
Monday, October 05, 2009
Stream of consciousness
It is often said that the stream of consciousness was discovered by the great American psychologist William James. Needless to say, the stream has been with us always, ever since our birth, before WJ. It is only that the particular way of looking at our own experience, in its phenomenological dimensions in particular, solidifies and defines itself only with the explicit introduction of this concept.
Once in a while, during the course of the day, I would think about the stream of consciousness. How subtle are its manifestations. The ups and downs, the subtleties, multitudes of nuances, anticipations, apprehensions, sweets and bitters.
Even for a brief period of, say, one minute, it is not possible to give a full description of the stream of consciousness. We can only witness in helpless promised amnesia its magnificent processions before our own eyes.
The phenomenology of subjective experience is then a hopeless battle of the ever losing and being lost, rather like the explosive grandeur of Olivier Messiaen's Turangalîla-Symphonie.
What solace and disappointment to this mortal soul!
Once in a while, during the course of the day, I would think about the stream of consciousness. How subtle are its manifestations. The ups and downs, the subtleties, multitudes of nuances, anticipations, apprehensions, sweets and bitters.
Even for a brief period of, say, one minute, it is not possible to give a full description of the stream of consciousness. We can only witness in helpless promised amnesia its magnificent processions before our own eyes.
The phenomenology of subjective experience is then a hopeless battle of the ever losing and being lost, rather like the explosive grandeur of Olivier Messiaen's Turangalîla-Symphonie.
What solace and disappointment to this mortal soul!
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Full moon
I have been up and doing recently, for quite a long time. Galloping has to stop somewhere and sometime. Now seems to be the time for reflection.
Took a deep dip in the hot spring. Tasted the water from the bathtub. Pondered how divine is every thing. Between earth and heaven.
In the Okinawa Islands, there is a saying.
The moon is beautiful on the thirteenth night.
The girls are beautiful in the seventeenth year.
When I look up at a beautiful moon, I am wont to think of this poetic song. I first heard it when I was 10. I have been missing its touch ever since.
When you do too much typing, you feel as if you were starving, as if your inner words reservoir was getting low. Then you read a beautiful essay written by a lonely soul. You feel replenished. You can go on again.
You have a full moon in your soul again.
Took a deep dip in the hot spring. Tasted the water from the bathtub. Pondered how divine is every thing. Between earth and heaven.
In the Okinawa Islands, there is a saying.
The moon is beautiful on the thirteenth night.
The girls are beautiful in the seventeenth year.
When I look up at a beautiful moon, I am wont to think of this poetic song. I first heard it when I was 10. I have been missing its touch ever since.
When you do too much typing, you feel as if you were starving, as if your inner words reservoir was getting low. Then you read a beautiful essay written by a lonely soul. You feel replenished. You can go on again.
You have a full moon in your soul again.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
The burning heart
(Continued from yesterday's entry of "Tiger Jeet Singh".)
I hear that Tiger Jeet Singh is now a successful business person based in Canada. His real self is a rational man with cool judgments. Once on the ring, he becomes a wild beast, with a very unique fighting style.
In professional wrestling there are certain protocols. Beautiful girls dressed in kimonos would present flower bouquets to the fighters. The referee will explain the rules, and the fighters shake hands. Tiger Jeet Singh would have none of that.
Before the gong sounds, Tiger Jeet Singh is already on the offensive. Everything occurs out of the blue, without hesitation, with full vigor. He would swing his saber towards Anotonio Inoki, and the two fighters would fall out of the ring. Once out of the ring, it is a total chaos. Chairs would fly. Tiger Jeet Singh would chase Antonio Inoki, and the spectators would flee. The spotlight follows the fighters. The announcer would shout "Please take care! Please take care!". The announcer's cries of warning add fuel to the excitement.
After a while, the gong rings. Then the announcer would calmly say "now the match has begun". It is a very strange announcement. It is as if the nasty doings of Tiger Jeet Singh, clearly violating the rules, are being blessed in retrospect. It has been all O.K. The match is already in full motion.
The fighting style of Tiger Jeet Singh, in which he ignores the preparatory protocols of the match and just "goes for it" the moment he springs onto the ring, fascinated and thrilled me as a child. I have been trying to imitate the style in real life ever since.
When you are attending a conference, or on a committee, there are people who like to say polite but meaningless things. I ignore the mannerism, and just go straight to the essence of matters. The spirit of Tiger Jeet Singh is in me. I don't have a saber, but I have the burning heart.
Classic. Tiger Jeet Singh showing his emotions.
I hear that Tiger Jeet Singh is now a successful business person based in Canada. His real self is a rational man with cool judgments. Once on the ring, he becomes a wild beast, with a very unique fighting style.
In professional wrestling there are certain protocols. Beautiful girls dressed in kimonos would present flower bouquets to the fighters. The referee will explain the rules, and the fighters shake hands. Tiger Jeet Singh would have none of that.
Before the gong sounds, Tiger Jeet Singh is already on the offensive. Everything occurs out of the blue, without hesitation, with full vigor. He would swing his saber towards Anotonio Inoki, and the two fighters would fall out of the ring. Once out of the ring, it is a total chaos. Chairs would fly. Tiger Jeet Singh would chase Antonio Inoki, and the spectators would flee. The spotlight follows the fighters. The announcer would shout "Please take care! Please take care!". The announcer's cries of warning add fuel to the excitement.
After a while, the gong rings. Then the announcer would calmly say "now the match has begun". It is a very strange announcement. It is as if the nasty doings of Tiger Jeet Singh, clearly violating the rules, are being blessed in retrospect. It has been all O.K. The match is already in full motion.
The fighting style of Tiger Jeet Singh, in which he ignores the preparatory protocols of the match and just "goes for it" the moment he springs onto the ring, fascinated and thrilled me as a child. I have been trying to imitate the style in real life ever since.
When you are attending a conference, or on a committee, there are people who like to say polite but meaningless things. I ignore the mannerism, and just go straight to the essence of matters. The spirit of Tiger Jeet Singh is in me. I don't have a saber, but I have the burning heart.
Classic. Tiger Jeet Singh showing his emotions.
Friday, October 02, 2009
He really means it!
When I was 10, my then best friend Toshikazu Shimamura took me to see a Professional Wrestling match. The fight was between Antonio Inoki and Tiger Jeet Singh.
We were waiting for the arrival of wrestlers in front of the Koshigaya City Gymnasium. Toshikazu was a great fan of wrestling. He would give me many advises towards the appreciation of this genre.
As we were standing with great expectations, Toshikazu warned me:
"The other wrestlers are just make-believers. Tiger Jeet Singh, alone, is different. He really means it! If you meet him in the eye, he is sure to attack you. So don't you ever look him in the eye. I adviser you on this, for your life."
So I had serious apprehensions as Tinger Jeet Singh himself got out of the minibus and stormed towards the gymnasium. As Toshikazu was warning me, he seemed to "really mean it". His countenance was menacing, with his trademark saber in his mouth.
When I look back, I wonder why his act did not violate Japanese swards and guns control law. It certainly looked like he was violating it.
Tiger Jeet Singh with his trademark saber.
We were waiting for the arrival of wrestlers in front of the Koshigaya City Gymnasium. Toshikazu was a great fan of wrestling. He would give me many advises towards the appreciation of this genre.
As we were standing with great expectations, Toshikazu warned me:
"The other wrestlers are just make-believers. Tiger Jeet Singh, alone, is different. He really means it! If you meet him in the eye, he is sure to attack you. So don't you ever look him in the eye. I adviser you on this, for your life."
So I had serious apprehensions as Tinger Jeet Singh himself got out of the minibus and stormed towards the gymnasium. As Toshikazu was warning me, he seemed to "really mean it". His countenance was menacing, with his trademark saber in his mouth.
When I look back, I wonder why his act did not violate Japanese swards and guns control law. It certainly looked like he was violating it.
Tiger Jeet Singh with his trademark saber.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Turner Island
In the suburb of Matsuyama, off the coast, there is a small island. It is famous as Soseki Natsume referred to it as the "Turner Island" in his novel Botchan.
On Tuesday I was on the boat off Matsuyama, being gently swayed by the waves. There it was, a chunk of rocks with pine trees growing on it. Its beauty struck me immediately. The impression deepened with the lapse of beholding time.
So this is the Turner Island, I thought.
Soseki named the island as such because it appears to be a scene fit for a depiction in a work by the great painter. Two antagonists in the novel, nicknamed "Red Shirt" and "Field Drum", go fishing on the boat with the protagonist "Botchan". The Red Shirt and Field Drum discuss the Turner Island, to the amusement of Botchan. It is a very memorable passage in the novel.
I did not expect that the island would be so lovely. Soseki certainly had an eye for the beautiful, even when the affection was expressed with wit and sarcasm.
Now my mind's image storage has curated the Turner Island in its collection.
The "Turner Island" off the coast of Matsuyama.
On Tuesday I was on the boat off Matsuyama, being gently swayed by the waves. There it was, a chunk of rocks with pine trees growing on it. Its beauty struck me immediately. The impression deepened with the lapse of beholding time.
So this is the Turner Island, I thought.
Soseki named the island as such because it appears to be a scene fit for a depiction in a work by the great painter. Two antagonists in the novel, nicknamed "Red Shirt" and "Field Drum", go fishing on the boat with the protagonist "Botchan". The Red Shirt and Field Drum discuss the Turner Island, to the amusement of Botchan. It is a very memorable passage in the novel.
I did not expect that the island would be so lovely. Soseki certainly had an eye for the beautiful, even when the affection was expressed with wit and sarcasm.
Now my mind's image storage has curated the Turner Island in its collection.
The "Turner Island" off the coast of Matsuyama.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Friendship
My second day in Matsuyama, and I have been pondering the friendship between Soseki Natsume. and Shiki Masaoka.
Soseki is the father of modern Japanese literature, and Shiki is the founder of modern Haiku poems.
Shiki was born in Matsuyama, and Soseki came to teach in the city after graduating from University of Tokyo. Soseki based his novel Botchan on his experiences in this southern city on the Shikoku island.
That Soseki and Shiki both went on to achieve great things in literature is not independent of their friendship. Soseki and Shiki knew each other in the preparatory school for the university already. They exchanged views on literature. Soseki wrote many Haiku poems which Shiki read and made comments on. During a particularly intensive period of 50 days, Soseki and Shiki stayed at the same house, now reconstructed in a park in Matsuyama.
The friendship between people of the same sex is one of the most beautiful things in life. Records suggest that Shiki and Soseki were attracted to each other from the beginning, acknowledging the special qualities of the counterpart.
Shiki died at the premature age of 35. Three years later, Soseki wrote his first novel "I am a cat". Shiki had an ambition to be a novelist himself, but his short life under the shadows of tuberculosis did not allow a full development of his aspirations.
One could only imagine how Soseki felt as he looked back on his soul mate, who shared literary ambitions in the youth.
Soseki himself died at the age of 49. His last novel, Mei an (Light and Darkness) , was left unfinished.
Soseki is the father of modern Japanese literature, and Shiki is the founder of modern Haiku poems.
Shiki was born in Matsuyama, and Soseki came to teach in the city after graduating from University of Tokyo. Soseki based his novel Botchan on his experiences in this southern city on the Shikoku island.
That Soseki and Shiki both went on to achieve great things in literature is not independent of their friendship. Soseki and Shiki knew each other in the preparatory school for the university already. They exchanged views on literature. Soseki wrote many Haiku poems which Shiki read and made comments on. During a particularly intensive period of 50 days, Soseki and Shiki stayed at the same house, now reconstructed in a park in Matsuyama.
The friendship between people of the same sex is one of the most beautiful things in life. Records suggest that Shiki and Soseki were attracted to each other from the beginning, acknowledging the special qualities of the counterpart.
Shiki died at the premature age of 35. Three years later, Soseki wrote his first novel "I am a cat". Shiki had an ambition to be a novelist himself, but his short life under the shadows of tuberculosis did not allow a full development of his aspirations.
One could only imagine how Soseki felt as he looked back on his soul mate, who shared literary ambitions in the youth.
Soseki himself died at the age of 49. His last novel, Mei an (Light and Darkness) , was left unfinished.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
A brain the size of Kent
I am in Matsuyama, for matters concerning the great writer Soseki Natsume.
On the way to Matsuyama airport, I was reading the book "Oscar Wilde. Nothing...Except my genius. A celebration of his wit and wisdom' (Penguin books, 1997). A quite lengthy essay 'Playing Oscar' by Stephen Fry in the book was very enjoyable.
-----------
And what of Wilde the man? He stood for art. He stood for nothing less all his life. His doctrine of art was so high that most people thought he was joking. The English, who to this day believe themselves quite mistakenly to be possessed of a higher sense of humour than any other nation on earth, have never understood that a thing expressed with wit is more, not less, likely to be true than a thing intoned gravely as solemn fact. We, British, who pride ourselves on our superior sense of irony, have never fully grasped the idea of fiction--of ironism. Plain old sarcasm is about our mark. When Wilde made an epigram, it was at best, 'clever'. Clever, like funny, is an English insult of the deepest kind.
'Playing Oscar' by Stephen Fry
-------------------
I love Stephen Fry. He was once described as "a man with a brain the size of Kent." I appreciate Stephen's effort to come to terms with the phenomenon that was Oscar Wilde.
On the way to Matsuyama airport, I was reading the book "Oscar Wilde. Nothing...Except my genius. A celebration of his wit and wisdom' (Penguin books, 1997). A quite lengthy essay 'Playing Oscar' by Stephen Fry in the book was very enjoyable.
-----------
And what of Wilde the man? He stood for art. He stood for nothing less all his life. His doctrine of art was so high that most people thought he was joking. The English, who to this day believe themselves quite mistakenly to be possessed of a higher sense of humour than any other nation on earth, have never understood that a thing expressed with wit is more, not less, likely to be true than a thing intoned gravely as solemn fact. We, British, who pride ourselves on our superior sense of irony, have never fully grasped the idea of fiction--of ironism. Plain old sarcasm is about our mark. When Wilde made an epigram, it was at best, 'clever'. Clever, like funny, is an English insult of the deepest kind.
'Playing Oscar' by Stephen Fry
-------------------
I love Stephen Fry. He was once described as "a man with a brain the size of Kent." I appreciate Stephen's effort to come to terms with the phenomenon that was Oscar Wilde.
Monday, September 28, 2009
High tension
I had an interesting dialogue with my best chum Takashi Ikegami, at the Aoyama Book Center in Tokyo.
It was meant as a launch event for my latest book (translated as "Symposium of the Brains"), but we talked out of the context as always.
I tend to judge people by the high tension. Takashi's tension is as lofty as ever. It flies sky high. His day time job is professor at the prestigious University of Tokyo, but he wears Aloha and jeans during office time all the same. Fashion statement is a wonderful channel of philosophy. I have weathered this whole year with only a single pair of trousers and jacket, augmented by a collection of T-shirts.
I am always looking for a person with high tension. When your counterpart is earnest, full of energy, and committed, through the dialogue one can fly high up in the air. Last night, with Takashi, the whole audience witnessed lofty mountains and distant oceans. The cityscapes of Tokyo diminished into the background.
High tension professor in aloha. Best chum Takashi Ikegami.
It was meant as a launch event for my latest book (translated as "Symposium of the Brains"), but we talked out of the context as always.
I tend to judge people by the high tension. Takashi's tension is as lofty as ever. It flies sky high. His day time job is professor at the prestigious University of Tokyo, but he wears Aloha and jeans during office time all the same. Fashion statement is a wonderful channel of philosophy. I have weathered this whole year with only a single pair of trousers and jacket, augmented by a collection of T-shirts.
I am always looking for a person with high tension. When your counterpart is earnest, full of energy, and committed, through the dialogue one can fly high up in the air. Last night, with Takashi, the whole audience witnessed lofty mountains and distant oceans. The cityscapes of Tokyo diminished into the background.
High tension professor in aloha. Best chum Takashi Ikegami.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Audience laugh
Giving a talk is part of my life. I am invited to give a talk from various quarters, but I cannot comply with most of them. I have to say no to ~95% of the invitations, much to my regret.
I gave a talk in Hakata this Saturday, to an audience of about 1700. The lecture was organized by Mainichi Shimbun, one of the largest newspapers in Japan.
When I give a talk to the public, I naturally touch upon my own expertise, namely the brain sciences. At the same time, I try to make the talk as entertaining as possible. To that end, my experiences in childhood attending the Yose comic shows prove useful.
At the Yose, several entertainments are provided. The most staple form is Rakugo, Japanese traditional sit-down comedy. My father and grandfather liked listening to Rakugo at the Yose, and I was often taken to the performances in my childhood.
Although I did not realize it for a long time, when I give a public lecture to the general audience my childhood sojourns to Yose help me very much. I feel happy when the audience laugh.
Myself giving a talk this Saturday in a theater in Hakata.
I gave a talk in Hakata this Saturday, to an audience of about 1700. The lecture was organized by Mainichi Shimbun, one of the largest newspapers in Japan.
When I give a talk to the public, I naturally touch upon my own expertise, namely the brain sciences. At the same time, I try to make the talk as entertaining as possible. To that end, my experiences in childhood attending the Yose comic shows prove useful.
At the Yose, several entertainments are provided. The most staple form is Rakugo, Japanese traditional sit-down comedy. My father and grandfather liked listening to Rakugo at the Yose, and I was often taken to the performances in my childhood.
Although I did not realize it for a long time, when I give a public lecture to the general audience my childhood sojourns to Yose help me very much. I feel happy when the audience laugh.
Myself giving a talk this Saturday in a theater in Hakata.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
At the Imperial Hotel
I gave a talk at the Imperial Hotel, Tokyo. The hotel is preparing itself for its 120th anniversary. I was invited to speak on serendipity, which has been chosen as the ethos word for the special occasion by the president of the hotel, Mr. Tetsuya Kobayashi. After the talk, I had a lively dialogue with Mr. Kobayashi on the nature of making most of the chance meetings we have during the course of our life.
Mr. Kenichiro Tanaka, the chief chef of the hotel, prepared a special dinner for us. Mr. Tanaka has been a guest on The Professionals program that I host, so that I am familiar with his warm ways of communicating with people. It was a pleasant evening.
The Imperial Hotel is a national institution. Initially organized as a Western style hotel to welcome foreigners to Tokyo after the opening of the country to the outside world after the Meiji Restoration, it represents the finest in the tradition of deep-running hospitality. Although on the surface it is very western, in spirit the finesse remains uniquely Japanese.
This particular blog is in part an experimentation on expressing the world view and sensitivities of someone who was born and brought up in Tokyo, in the lingua franca that is English. In a sense, I feel the Imperial Hotel is trying to do the same thing.
At the Imperial Hotel main entrance. With president of the hotel Mr. Tetsuya Kobayashi and the chief chef Mr. Kenichiro Tanaka.
Mr. Kenichiro Tanaka, the chief chef of the hotel, prepared a special dinner for us. Mr. Tanaka has been a guest on The Professionals program that I host, so that I am familiar with his warm ways of communicating with people. It was a pleasant evening.
The Imperial Hotel is a national institution. Initially organized as a Western style hotel to welcome foreigners to Tokyo after the opening of the country to the outside world after the Meiji Restoration, it represents the finest in the tradition of deep-running hospitality. Although on the surface it is very western, in spirit the finesse remains uniquely Japanese.
This particular blog is in part an experimentation on expressing the world view and sensitivities of someone who was born and brought up in Tokyo, in the lingua franca that is English. In a sense, I feel the Imperial Hotel is trying to do the same thing.
At the Imperial Hotel main entrance. With president of the hotel Mr. Tetsuya Kobayashi and the chief chef Mr. Kenichiro Tanaka.
Friday, September 25, 2009
The brat element
I think I was a dirty brat. During the elementary school days, I used to take a bath with a book in my hand. Often, I did not wash at all, and would get out of the bath where the only difference was that I have progressed with the reading of the book by several pages. My mother used to accuse me of "a crow's bathing", after a popular expression in Japan referring to a bath taking without the cleansing elements.
As a result, my hair would often get oily, as if a natural additive was applied to the head shrub. I was literally an oily boy.
Nowadays, I take shower and wash my hair every morning. And yet, I do not distinguish between soap and shampoo. Most often, I wash my hair with a bar of soap. The brat element has not left me.
As a result, my hair would often get oily, as if a natural additive was applied to the head shrub. I was literally an oily boy.
Nowadays, I take shower and wash my hair every morning. And yet, I do not distinguish between soap and shampoo. Most often, I wash my hair with a bar of soap. The brat element has not left me.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Dinner party
I was invited to a dinner party in honor of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Rowan Williams, at the British Embassy in Tokyo.
I was introduced to the Archbishop by the British Ambassador to Japan, Mr. David Warren. Mr. Warren is a warm man with a robustness of quick wit and sound judgments. It was a great pleasure to accept Mr. Warren's kind invitation to this special dinner.
Dr. Williams was educated at Cambridge and Oxford, and is known for his liberal views on the role of the Anglican Church. He is an poet in its own right. Before the dinner, some of his poems were set to beautiful music by members of British Embassy choir.
At dinner, I sat next to The Bishop of Leicester, The Rt Revd Timothy Stevens. I had a lively conversation with Tim.
During the conversation, something struck me.
I said to Tim, "you know, something just struck me" "What is it?" "Well, it just occurred to me that in English culture, at a dinner table like this, people carry on talking as if the food on the table does not matter." "Yes, it is probably very much true." "My mentor was Prof. Horace Barlow at Trinity college, Cambridge, and I sometimes had dinner there. I remember well how people appeared not to pay any attention to the dishes on the table, which were actually excellent. Why is it?" "Well, as an English person, I probably don't realize the reasons for the particulars of my own culture. Probably the English people do not think what you eat is very important in your life."
After the dinner, during the port, I was discussing the London Underground, and a question arose. Mr. Jason James, Director of the British Council and the Cultural Counsellor at the British Embassy, told me he would send an e-mail later on why the underground card is called "Oyster".
Here's the e-mail from Jason.
-------------
Subject: World is your oyster
From: Jason James
To: kenmogi
According to Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, the expression "the world is his oyster" means 'the world is the place from which he can extract success and profit, as a pearl can be extracted from an oyster.'
A quote from Shakespeare is given:
Falstaff: I will not lend thee a penny.
Pistol: Why, then the world's mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open.
(Merry Wives of Windsor, II, ii (1600))
These days, it just means "You have complete freedom to do whatever you want.' It is usually used with reference to people's career prospects - e.g. we might say that if someone gets into Tokyo University "the world is his/her oyster."
Best regards,
Jason James
-----------------
On the way back on the taxi, I received a phone call from the Kabuki actor Ichikawa Ebizo, who has just returned from a successful performance in Monaco. Ebizo is going to Hakata this weekend for his performance there in October. I commented how super his Roppo action was during his performance of Ishikawa Goemon with his father Ichikawa Danjuro.
I was introduced to the Archbishop by the British Ambassador to Japan, Mr. David Warren. Mr. Warren is a warm man with a robustness of quick wit and sound judgments. It was a great pleasure to accept Mr. Warren's kind invitation to this special dinner.
Dr. Williams was educated at Cambridge and Oxford, and is known for his liberal views on the role of the Anglican Church. He is an poet in its own right. Before the dinner, some of his poems were set to beautiful music by members of British Embassy choir.
At dinner, I sat next to The Bishop of Leicester, The Rt Revd Timothy Stevens. I had a lively conversation with Tim.
During the conversation, something struck me.
I said to Tim, "you know, something just struck me" "What is it?" "Well, it just occurred to me that in English culture, at a dinner table like this, people carry on talking as if the food on the table does not matter." "Yes, it is probably very much true." "My mentor was Prof. Horace Barlow at Trinity college, Cambridge, and I sometimes had dinner there. I remember well how people appeared not to pay any attention to the dishes on the table, which were actually excellent. Why is it?" "Well, as an English person, I probably don't realize the reasons for the particulars of my own culture. Probably the English people do not think what you eat is very important in your life."
After the dinner, during the port, I was discussing the London Underground, and a question arose. Mr. Jason James, Director of the British Council and the Cultural Counsellor at the British Embassy, told me he would send an e-mail later on why the underground card is called "Oyster".
Here's the e-mail from Jason.
-------------
Subject: World is your oyster
From: Jason James
To: kenmogi
According to Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, the expression "the world is his oyster" means 'the world is the place from which he can extract success and profit, as a pearl can be extracted from an oyster.'
A quote from Shakespeare is given:
Falstaff: I will not lend thee a penny.
Pistol: Why, then the world's mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open.
(Merry Wives of Windsor, II, ii (1600))
These days, it just means "You have complete freedom to do whatever you want.' It is usually used with reference to people's career prospects - e.g. we might say that if someone gets into Tokyo University "the world is his/her oyster."
Best regards,
Jason James
-----------------
On the way back on the taxi, I received a phone call from the Kabuki actor Ichikawa Ebizo, who has just returned from a successful performance in Monaco. Ebizo is going to Hakata this weekend for his performance there in October. I commented how super his Roppo action was during his performance of Ishikawa Goemon with his father Ichikawa Danjuro.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
A good gardener
The brain is able to adjust its functions according to the particular context in which the subject is expected to do well. For example, cramming for the entrance examination is a context. Common sense tells us that those who do well in the cramming context do not necessary perform excellently in the general arena of life. It is simply because the contexts are different.
The orbitofrontal cortex, together with other related circuits in the brain, is responsible for the fine tuning of the coordination of brain's various circuits so that it functions properly in the context given.
It is one thing to do well in the particular context that one confronts at a particular time. It is another to choose the context in which one is supposed to perform, with minute care and unlimited imagination.
Many people, as life progresses, falls into a particular pattern of context, and learn to do well in it, but fails to have a metacognition of the context itself.
Choosing the context is an art of cultivating the vegetation that is the self, which can grow only slowly and by daily customs. One must be a good gardener in the "plantation" of the brain, making decisions on the context setting with wisdom.
The orbitofrontal cortex (from Wikipedia)
The orbitofrontal cortex, together with other related circuits in the brain, is responsible for the fine tuning of the coordination of brain's various circuits so that it functions properly in the context given.
It is one thing to do well in the particular context that one confronts at a particular time. It is another to choose the context in which one is supposed to perform, with minute care and unlimited imagination.
Many people, as life progresses, falls into a particular pattern of context, and learn to do well in it, but fails to have a metacognition of the context itself.
Choosing the context is an art of cultivating the vegetation that is the self, which can grow only slowly and by daily customs. One must be a good gardener in the "plantation" of the brain, making decisions on the context setting with wisdom.
The orbitofrontal cortex (from Wikipedia)
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The magical transformation
Yesterday, there was a shooting for the "Untitled Concert" (Daimeino nai Ongakukai) program conducted and introduced by Yutaka Sado. The Untitled Concert program is broadcast by TV Asahi weekly. The venue was Opera City, in the metropolitan Shinjuku district.
The theme was the music of Antonín Dvořák.
I appeared as a guest, and had conversations with Yutaka Sado, accompanied by the master of ceremony Ms. Naoko Kubota.
Yutaka Sado is an extraordinary man.
A conductor, by the very nature of his job, remains silent. He is, in a sense, deprived of speech. The only way to express himself is through the baton, and the orchestra does the actual physical expression for him. Because of the deprivation of voice, the conductor becomes passionate. The volcanic fire comes from the non-existence of speech.
Therefore, it is an unusual and difficult job to alternate between being a speaking person on one hand, with all the friendliness that one can command, to reach the general audience, and being speechless on the other, putting all one's existential weight on the baton.
Yutaka Sado does exactly that. Now he is talking expressively about the charm of Dvořák. The next moment he is conducting, with the baton as his only way of expression. Yutaka is speechless, while the orchestra plays heavenly music. The magical transformation has been accomplished.
With Yutaka Sado and Naoko Kubota on the stage from an earlier broadcast.
The theme was the music of Antonín Dvořák.
I appeared as a guest, and had conversations with Yutaka Sado, accompanied by the master of ceremony Ms. Naoko Kubota.
Yutaka Sado is an extraordinary man.
A conductor, by the very nature of his job, remains silent. He is, in a sense, deprived of speech. The only way to express himself is through the baton, and the orchestra does the actual physical expression for him. Because of the deprivation of voice, the conductor becomes passionate. The volcanic fire comes from the non-existence of speech.
Therefore, it is an unusual and difficult job to alternate between being a speaking person on one hand, with all the friendliness that one can command, to reach the general audience, and being speechless on the other, putting all one's existential weight on the baton.
Yutaka Sado does exactly that. Now he is talking expressively about the charm of Dvořák. The next moment he is conducting, with the baton as his only way of expression. Yutaka is speechless, while the orchestra plays heavenly music. The magical transformation has been accomplished.
With Yutaka Sado and Naoko Kubota on the stage from an earlier broadcast.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Vulnerable for change
Being assertive is important in life. Without putting forward one's values and opinions in an explicit way, nothing changes in the tranquility of the universe. On the other hand, I think it is equally important to be a skeptic, being doubtful of one's own view.
From time to time, I encounter people who are quite positive about what they think and feel. When there isn't an accompanying element of self doubt, I feel a bit strange. I get suffocated even, having the sensation of being driven up against the wall. It is actually those people who are cornering themselves towards dead ends.
By being doubtful of the self, one opens the door for learning and growth. Looking back on my own past, I realize that I have never been completely sure of what I held to be my own opinion. There was always a remnant fluctuation, a vibrating center of the self swayed to and fro by the invisible wind.
I am very proud of my vulnerable nature. Being vulnerable for change is the only way of life.
From time to time, I encounter people who are quite positive about what they think and feel. When there isn't an accompanying element of self doubt, I feel a bit strange. I get suffocated even, having the sensation of being driven up against the wall. It is actually those people who are cornering themselves towards dead ends.
By being doubtful of the self, one opens the door for learning and growth. Looking back on my own past, I realize that I have never been completely sure of what I held to be my own opinion. There was always a remnant fluctuation, a vibrating center of the self swayed to and fro by the invisible wind.
I am very proud of my vulnerable nature. Being vulnerable for change is the only way of life.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
When I was around 10 to 15 years old, I really loved the musicals. As I recall, the film that kick-started the whole thing was Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, which was shown in a local film theater when I was 10.
When you think about it, the way some memories are associated with a particular period of life is strange. I vividly recall that I was exactly a 5th grader when I saw the film in the darkness of my favorite film theater.
As one gets older, memories are not so well designated to a specific period. For example, it is sometimes difficult to temporally pin down the initial viewing of some memorable films (e.g. Solaris, El Sur, L'Albero degli zoccoli) that I encountered in my 20s. The childhood days are marked by vivid and colorful progressions of time. As one passes adolescence, the segmentation of time becomes less clear.
Back to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. There were some features of the film that captured my imagination. For example, the contraptions that the mad inventor father (played by Dick van Dyke) builds in the film fascinated me. One of them cooked an egg and made a sandwich at the breakfast table, with some disastrous results.
There were some lovely tunes, like "Doll on a Music Box", where Truly Scrumptious (played by Sally Ann Howes), pretending to be a mechanically constructed doll, dances on a music box, ostensibly presented as a special gift to the tyrant Baron Bomburst.
There is a clip of this beautiful scene on youtube.
Looking back, the whole film is lovely, as in it the adults endeavor to entertain the children and children-at-hearts very seriously.
A scene from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
When you think about it, the way some memories are associated with a particular period of life is strange. I vividly recall that I was exactly a 5th grader when I saw the film in the darkness of my favorite film theater.
As one gets older, memories are not so well designated to a specific period. For example, it is sometimes difficult to temporally pin down the initial viewing of some memorable films (e.g. Solaris, El Sur, L'Albero degli zoccoli) that I encountered in my 20s. The childhood days are marked by vivid and colorful progressions of time. As one passes adolescence, the segmentation of time becomes less clear.
Back to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. There were some features of the film that captured my imagination. For example, the contraptions that the mad inventor father (played by Dick van Dyke) builds in the film fascinated me. One of them cooked an egg and made a sandwich at the breakfast table, with some disastrous results.
There were some lovely tunes, like "Doll on a Music Box", where Truly Scrumptious (played by Sally Ann Howes), pretending to be a mechanically constructed doll, dances on a music box, ostensibly presented as a special gift to the tyrant Baron Bomburst.
There is a clip of this beautiful scene on youtube.
Looking back, the whole film is lovely, as in it the adults endeavor to entertain the children and children-at-hearts very seriously.
A scene from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
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