I came to a Haiku meeting ("Kukai") at Yugawara, a famous Onsen (hot spring) retreat, about one hour from Tokyo.
The meeting was organized by Madoka Mayuzumi, my good friend and a famous haiku poet.
I took the bath after a strenuous and yet enjoyable haiku session. A hot spring is a godsend for a schedule-pursued, overworked brat like me. I stretched my arms and legs, and took a deep sigh.
After thus bringing back life to my system, I was putting my clothes on. In Japanese Onsens, it is customary to have an official notice of the effective elements contained in the hot spring water in the room next to the hot spring. It is somehow required by law, I think. Anyway, I have somehow made it my custom to read the list of effective elements only after I have taken the bath.
It is just a matter of taste. I don't like to pre-configure my mind. I would like to dip myself into the hot water without consciously knowing what the experience is supposed to do for me. If I had preconceptions, it would "taint" the purity.
The philosophy is not just for taking the hot spring. Knowing the factual details only after the actual experience has become my way of life. Since we know so little about the conditions of life, collision without prior knowledge seems to be the only way.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Make me whole
De Prufundis, an essay in the form of a letter written during imprisonment by Oscar Wilde, has such a beautiful ending.
Wild imagines how he would feel on the day of release, and he thinks of the flowers that would greet him.
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I tremble with pleasure when I think that on the very day of my leaving prison both the laburnum and the lilac will be blooming in the gardens, and that I shall see the wind stir into restless beauty the swaying gold of the one, and make the other toss the pale purple of its plumes, so that all the air shall be Arabia for me.
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Then the essay ends as Wilde ponders how he would still be rejected by society, but would be made whole by nature, who would cleanse him in great waters.
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Society, as we have constituted it, will have no place for me, has none to offer; but Nature, whose sweet rains fall on unjust and just alike, will have clefts in the rocks where I may hide, and secret valleys in whose silence I may weep undisturbed. She will hang the night with stars so that I may walk abroad in the darkness without stumbling, and send the wind over my footprints so that none may track me to my hurt: she will cleanse me in great waters, and with bitter herbs make me whole.
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When I read this, I realized that all pieces of conventional reasoning about the famous "Mary's Room" thought experiment by Franck Jackson have been missing one crucial thing.
Mary, when she is released from her black-and-white world, and sees the wild flowers for the first time, would not only learn the color qualia but also weep, deeply moved, her very existence shuttered and them made anew, by her encounter with the brave new world.
She has been made whole.
Wild imagines how he would feel on the day of release, and he thinks of the flowers that would greet him.
----------
I tremble with pleasure when I think that on the very day of my leaving prison both the laburnum and the lilac will be blooming in the gardens, and that I shall see the wind stir into restless beauty the swaying gold of the one, and make the other toss the pale purple of its plumes, so that all the air shall be Arabia for me.
------------
Then the essay ends as Wilde ponders how he would still be rejected by society, but would be made whole by nature, who would cleanse him in great waters.
-----------
Society, as we have constituted it, will have no place for me, has none to offer; but Nature, whose sweet rains fall on unjust and just alike, will have clefts in the rocks where I may hide, and secret valleys in whose silence I may weep undisturbed. She will hang the night with stars so that I may walk abroad in the darkness without stumbling, and send the wind over my footprints so that none may track me to my hurt: she will cleanse me in great waters, and with bitter herbs make me whole.
------------
When I read this, I realized that all pieces of conventional reasoning about the famous "Mary's Room" thought experiment by Franck Jackson have been missing one crucial thing.
Mary, when she is released from her black-and-white world, and sees the wild flowers for the first time, would not only learn the color qualia but also weep, deeply moved, her very existence shuttered and them made anew, by her encounter with the brave new world.
She has been made whole.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Hideo Kobayashi
Close to midnight I had a phone call from Shinya Shirasu. He was drinking with his friends, and wondered if I could join them. I had my work, so I said regretfully that I could not make it.
Maybe Shinya's call had a strange effect on my unconscious. I had a dream. In it I was lecturing in a room. After the lecture, I realized that Hideo Kobayashi was among the audience. In a sudden pang of regret, I reproached myself for not noticing the legendary critic's presence. Then my heart started to appreciate how warm and embracing the smile of Hideo Kobayashi has been. Because of the warmth, it was now all right. I still thought I would have loved to talk to Hideo Kobayashi, but all was well as it was.
When I awoke, I realized that Hideo Kobayashi is dead for a long time.
Hideo Kobayashi is Shinya's grandfather. It is strange how a small experience can be wondrously interpreted in one's unconscious, reflected in the occasional manifestations in the conscious, while the vast ocean of the unconscious remains inaccessible.
Maybe Shinya's call had a strange effect on my unconscious. I had a dream. In it I was lecturing in a room. After the lecture, I realized that Hideo Kobayashi was among the audience. In a sudden pang of regret, I reproached myself for not noticing the legendary critic's presence. Then my heart started to appreciate how warm and embracing the smile of Hideo Kobayashi has been. Because of the warmth, it was now all right. I still thought I would have loved to talk to Hideo Kobayashi, but all was well as it was.
When I awoke, I realized that Hideo Kobayashi is dead for a long time.
Hideo Kobayashi is Shinya's grandfather. It is strange how a small experience can be wondrously interpreted in one's unconscious, reflected in the occasional manifestations in the conscious, while the vast ocean of the unconscious remains inaccessible.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Harking
I don't know what is happening, but I seem to be less interested in the physical testimonies of life such as photos, and sound recordings these days.
They are certainty useful. Without photography, for example, I would have never known how Albert Einstein looked. If even a second of Napoleon's voice was here with us, it would have changed our perception of history beyond recognition.
However, as far as I am concerned, I seem to have come to the realization that in my life, precious things are never recorded. These moments would remain within me as a faint trace of memory, if they retain their feeble presences at all.
I would certainly keep taking photos and making MP3 recordings. But at the same time I would be harking, attending to my inner traces, remembering the times that have been, which is possibly the only significant action, against civilization, in the continuation of an ancient spirit.
They are certainty useful. Without photography, for example, I would have never known how Albert Einstein looked. If even a second of Napoleon's voice was here with us, it would have changed our perception of history beyond recognition.
However, as far as I am concerned, I seem to have come to the realization that in my life, precious things are never recorded. These moments would remain within me as a faint trace of memory, if they retain their feeble presences at all.
I would certainly keep taking photos and making MP3 recordings. But at the same time I would be harking, attending to my inner traces, remembering the times that have been, which is possibly the only significant action, against civilization, in the continuation of an ancient spirit.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Squid
Right now I am in Kochi city, where the ENJIN 01 conferences are being held.
In the evening, after a long day of strenuous and yet enjoyable schedule, we went to a Sushi restaurant. We ordered some delicacies. The Aori Squid was one of them.
As I chewed the sweet and strongly-textured meat, I suddenly remembered how as a child it was hard to swallow a squid.
I always wanted to behave like an adult, so when the Sushi came I tried the squid like the grown-ups. However, as I chewed on, the squid in my mouth would start to have the texture of gum. I could not bite them into pieces. Gradually the squid would lose all tastes. A mouthful of culinary nightmare was in the making.
It may have been the junior high school days when I finally learned how to swallow a squid. Now I enjoy them hugely, accompanied by beer and sake.
Growing up is learning how to swallow a squid.
In the evening, after a long day of strenuous and yet enjoyable schedule, we went to a Sushi restaurant. We ordered some delicacies. The Aori Squid was one of them.
As I chewed the sweet and strongly-textured meat, I suddenly remembered how as a child it was hard to swallow a squid.
I always wanted to behave like an adult, so when the Sushi came I tried the squid like the grown-ups. However, as I chewed on, the squid in my mouth would start to have the texture of gum. I could not bite them into pieces. Gradually the squid would lose all tastes. A mouthful of culinary nightmare was in the making.
It may have been the junior high school days when I finally learned how to swallow a squid. Now I enjoy them hugely, accompanied by beer and sake.
Growing up is learning how to swallow a squid.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
My canals
On a recent visit to an elementary school, I remembered one thing which has been cherished in my bosom for so many years.
I don't quite know how it started, but when I was a 2nd grader the fad among boys was to make "canals" on the desk in the classroom. The wood was soft, and you could cut tracks with the ball point pen. The ball would eventually come off the pen, which one used as a "vessel" which "voyaged" through the canals.
Needless to say, the vandalism was not particularly recommended by the school teacher. You were not supposed to damage the school property. In a strange twilight of illegal activities that is open only to a child, we competed who could make the most interesting map of canals on the desk.
It was a play in imagination. I developed a kingdom, named the places, and the network grew in my mind like a throbbing organization.
At the end of the semester, there was a desk shuffle, and I had to say goodbye to my beloved kingdom. The canals were still within my reach though. In March, when I became a 3rd grader, we moved to a new classroom. On the last afternoon, I went to touch the wood. I vividly remember my canals lit by the sunshine from the window.
I have not seen my canals since. How I miss them.
I don't quite know how it started, but when I was a 2nd grader the fad among boys was to make "canals" on the desk in the classroom. The wood was soft, and you could cut tracks with the ball point pen. The ball would eventually come off the pen, which one used as a "vessel" which "voyaged" through the canals.
Needless to say, the vandalism was not particularly recommended by the school teacher. You were not supposed to damage the school property. In a strange twilight of illegal activities that is open only to a child, we competed who could make the most interesting map of canals on the desk.
It was a play in imagination. I developed a kingdom, named the places, and the network grew in my mind like a throbbing organization.
At the end of the semester, there was a desk shuffle, and I had to say goodbye to my beloved kingdom. The canals were still within my reach though. In March, when I became a 3rd grader, we moved to a new classroom. On the last afternoon, I went to touch the wood. I vividly remember my canals lit by the sunshine from the window.
I have not seen my canals since. How I miss them.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Flower-like life
I was reading Oscar Wilde's De Profundis, and came across this sentence, where Wilde refers to Jesus Christ.
"He was the first person who ever said to people that they should live 'flower-like lives.' He fixed the phrase. He took children as the type of what people should try to become. He held them up as examples to their elders, which I myself have always thought the chief use of children, if what is perfect should have a use."
How true. We should all try to become children. The children in us is the only hope in our lives on this earth.
Science tells us about neoteny. We retain that special gift of childhood, to learn new things, and integrate them into our system.
The everyday of a child is literally the succession of a flower-like life, where, with learning new things, flowers bloom and blossom. Without awakening to the previously unknowns, the plants in our heart perish.
"He was the first person who ever said to people that they should live 'flower-like lives.' He fixed the phrase. He took children as the type of what people should try to become. He held them up as examples to their elders, which I myself have always thought the chief use of children, if what is perfect should have a use."
How true. We should all try to become children. The children in us is the only hope in our lives on this earth.
Science tells us about neoteny. We retain that special gift of childhood, to learn new things, and integrate them into our system.
The everyday of a child is literally the succession of a flower-like life, where, with learning new things, flowers bloom and blossom. Without awakening to the previously unknowns, the plants in our heart perish.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Jealous
On the Shinkansen train back from Kyoto, I was returning to my seat after going to the deck. Passing by, I saw a traveler with his girlfriend, apparently an American.
The sight of him made me jealous. Not because of his beautiful girl friend. The reason lay in what he was doing.
He was reading something with his Amazon Kindle. I couldn't tell what he was reading, as I did not stop to confirm or anything. He was apparently enjoying himself, relaxed like a slug and smiling in the spring sunshine.
I had an Amazon Kindle in my backpack, too. It carried loads of things for me to read. Oh, the heavenly bliss for an absorbed bookworm! But the pleasure was not to be mine.
I had to finish manuscripts, papers, send e-mails. It was my destiny to work like a dog, even after I going through a strenuous work schedule in the ancient capital, devoid of a leisure time to enjoy the legendary autumn leaves of the Kyoto mountain. Once in Tokyo, another assignment was waiting for me.
How I wanted to dive into the vast ocean of alphabets on the digital ink, travel through time, and meet deceased people. I desired to hear distant voices, and watch strange forms. The wish was so strong. But alas, it was not to be. Not like this lucky guy!
These thoughts went through my central nervous system only for a very brief time.
With a sigh traveling at a speed of 300 kilometers per hour, I returned to my seat, and duly started typing, like a ferocious fox in the field.
The sight of him made me jealous. Not because of his beautiful girl friend. The reason lay in what he was doing.
He was reading something with his Amazon Kindle. I couldn't tell what he was reading, as I did not stop to confirm or anything. He was apparently enjoying himself, relaxed like a slug and smiling in the spring sunshine.
I had an Amazon Kindle in my backpack, too. It carried loads of things for me to read. Oh, the heavenly bliss for an absorbed bookworm! But the pleasure was not to be mine.
I had to finish manuscripts, papers, send e-mails. It was my destiny to work like a dog, even after I going through a strenuous work schedule in the ancient capital, devoid of a leisure time to enjoy the legendary autumn leaves of the Kyoto mountain. Once in Tokyo, another assignment was waiting for me.
How I wanted to dive into the vast ocean of alphabets on the digital ink, travel through time, and meet deceased people. I desired to hear distant voices, and watch strange forms. The wish was so strong. But alas, it was not to be. Not like this lucky guy!
These thoughts went through my central nervous system only for a very brief time.
With a sigh traveling at a speed of 300 kilometers per hour, I returned to my seat, and duly started typing, like a ferocious fox in the field.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Fighting with the floor
I have several masters whom I respect very much. The writer Makoto Shiina is one of them.
Makoto Shiina is known for his poignant novels based on his own experience, as well as humorous essays in the outdoors.
He is well-built, and yet smart, and keeps a good figure.
When I asked him how he kept fit, he said it was simple. "You fight with the floor once a day". "How do you mean?" I asked.
"You do 200 push-ups, 200 sit-ups, and 200 squats every day. You don't use a machine. You just fight with the floor. That's all."
"When do you do that?"
"Before I go to sleep."
Makoto Shiina is known for his love for beers.
"Even when you are drunk?" I asked.
"Yes, even when I am drunk. It is like brushing your teeth, you see. If you don't do it, you don't feel good".
So the master told me how he kept fit.
For some reasons, I love running outside, but I have never really accustomed myself to fighting with the floor. I try from time to time, but I can never continue the exercise. Thus, it is difficult to be true to the master.
One of these days I would try to be true to the master. But then 200 times each is a tall order. Maybe I should start from 30 times each.
Life is so hard.
With the writer Makoto Siina in a recent meeting.
Makoto Shiina is known for his poignant novels based on his own experience, as well as humorous essays in the outdoors.
He is well-built, and yet smart, and keeps a good figure.
When I asked him how he kept fit, he said it was simple. "You fight with the floor once a day". "How do you mean?" I asked.
"You do 200 push-ups, 200 sit-ups, and 200 squats every day. You don't use a machine. You just fight with the floor. That's all."
"When do you do that?"
"Before I go to sleep."
Makoto Shiina is known for his love for beers.
"Even when you are drunk?" I asked.
"Yes, even when I am drunk. It is like brushing your teeth, you see. If you don't do it, you don't feel good".
So the master told me how he kept fit.
For some reasons, I love running outside, but I have never really accustomed myself to fighting with the floor. I try from time to time, but I can never continue the exercise. Thus, it is difficult to be true to the master.
One of these days I would try to be true to the master. But then 200 times each is a tall order. Maybe I should start from 30 times each.
Life is so hard.
With the writer Makoto Siina in a recent meeting.
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