President Barack Obama is now visiting Japan. According to a news report, he expressed his wish to taste "Kobe beef" during his stay.
It is true that Kobe beef is a delicacy. The Japanese take great care in the preparation of food. I hope President Obama will have an opportunity to make his wishes come true here.
I once visited a steakhouse in Orlando, Florida. The name was "Kobe".
The chef held a knife and fork, and prepared the food in a very entertaining manner. During the procession, he actually made a "Mount Fuji" with sliced onions. Then he put some alcohol into the volcanic "crater" and set fire.
Bang!
A great fire momentarily came out.
"Mount Fuji has erupted!" The chef shouted.
To the best of my knowledge, no steakhouse in Japan makes an onion Mount Fuji and make it erupt. I enjoyed the whole experience, though. Exotic!
I hope U.S. and Japan would be on good terms in years to come.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Dandelions
When I started to learn English, I was fascinated by the word "dandelions". The Japanese language has a lovely word for this particular flower, namely "tampopo" (which became, by the way, the title for the popular film about noodles by Junzo Itami). The English denomination is alluring in a different way.
It was clear to me from the beginning that the word had something to do with "lions". I imagined that the expression referred to the mane of the male lion, as they are visually similar. Later, I learned that "dandelions" are literally "lion's tooth", where the "tooth" refers to the toothed leaves. Equipped with this knowledge then, I imagined a lion with its jaws wide open, the sharp teeth inside showing the pride of living.
Etymology is fascinating. Meanings are generated from layers of meanings. But then one is aware that the meanings of words are ultimately without reason.
On a field of significance without a bottom sways the yellow heads of dandelions. The sunbeams sprayed on their petals are enchanting messages from the cosmos which is fundamentally absurd.
It was clear to me from the beginning that the word had something to do with "lions". I imagined that the expression referred to the mane of the male lion, as they are visually similar. Later, I learned that "dandelions" are literally "lion's tooth", where the "tooth" refers to the toothed leaves. Equipped with this knowledge then, I imagined a lion with its jaws wide open, the sharp teeth inside showing the pride of living.
Etymology is fascinating. Meanings are generated from layers of meanings. But then one is aware that the meanings of words are ultimately without reason.
On a field of significance without a bottom sways the yellow heads of dandelions. The sunbeams sprayed on their petals are enchanting messages from the cosmos which is fundamentally absurd.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Apple story
My mother grew up in Kokura, the north capital of the southern island of Kyushu. After she moved to Tokyo to marry my father, she learned that the food situation around Tokyo had been much worse during the war.
"We were never out of something to eat, really," she used to say. "We used to eat an bowlful of kazunoko (herring roe)". In and around Tokyo, kazunoko was considered a delicacy to be consumed at festive times, especially the new year. So there was certainly a geometrical variability in the values of marine foods.
Although the girl that was my mother never really starved, there was one particular thing that she craved for. The apples. My mother's father (my grandfather, who is sadly no longer with us) used to buy one apple for each of the children, once a month on the salary day.
My mother was the eldest child in the family. On the salary day, or rather the apple day for the children, she would take her brothers and sisters to the railway station, where they waited the father's return. Because apples were rare in Kyushu at that time, the children awaited eagerly for this monthly treat.
My mother used to tell this apple story from time to time when I was a child. Although I did not think much of it at that time, now it is fondly remembered, as a story epitomizing the essence of happiness.
"We were never out of something to eat, really," she used to say. "We used to eat an bowlful of kazunoko (herring roe)". In and around Tokyo, kazunoko was considered a delicacy to be consumed at festive times, especially the new year. So there was certainly a geometrical variability in the values of marine foods.
Although the girl that was my mother never really starved, there was one particular thing that she craved for. The apples. My mother's father (my grandfather, who is sadly no longer with us) used to buy one apple for each of the children, once a month on the salary day.
My mother was the eldest child in the family. On the salary day, or rather the apple day for the children, she would take her brothers and sisters to the railway station, where they waited the father's return. Because apples were rare in Kyushu at that time, the children awaited eagerly for this monthly treat.
My mother used to tell this apple story from time to time when I was a child. Although I did not think much of it at that time, now it is fondly remembered, as a story epitomizing the essence of happiness.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Secret base
There are certain things in life that come and go as fads, and yet stand out in one's memory as vivid and significant for years to come.
The secret base play was one of them. When I was about 5, there was a vacant space near my house. Grasses grew there, and logs and metals were stored (or rather abandoned) all over the place.
It was a perfect setting for the "secret base" play.
We brought a few cardboard boxes, and started building the secret base. We imagined that we were preparing to fight an invisible and unidentified enemy. It was fun to prepare the flags and hats of the defense team.
The context was not necessarily one of confrontation, however. There was something fundamentally cozy and intimate about hiding ourselves together in the cardboard box next to each other. The skin touch. The breath. The inexplicable comradeship of us brats.
It may be because these moments of physical and spiritual proximity are rare to come nowadays that I miss the times of secret base so much.
The secret base. Happy childhood times.
The secret base play was one of them. When I was about 5, there was a vacant space near my house. Grasses grew there, and logs and metals were stored (or rather abandoned) all over the place.
It was a perfect setting for the "secret base" play.
We brought a few cardboard boxes, and started building the secret base. We imagined that we were preparing to fight an invisible and unidentified enemy. It was fun to prepare the flags and hats of the defense team.
The context was not necessarily one of confrontation, however. There was something fundamentally cozy and intimate about hiding ourselves together in the cardboard box next to each other. The skin touch. The breath. The inexplicable comradeship of us brats.
It may be because these moments of physical and spiritual proximity are rare to come nowadays that I miss the times of secret base so much.
The secret base. Happy childhood times.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Paris
On the way to Paris, I was chatting with a flight attendant gentleman. When he learned that I was going on to Berlin, he remarked "why, are you not going to Paris?"
"Yes, it is a shame, isn't it?" I replied.
I know. Paris is such a romantic city. When you go to Paris, something in you is stirred. There is a new breath in life. And you remember things long forgotten.
On the way back from Berlin, I passed Charles de Gaulle airport again. I saw the "Trains to Paris" sign. Then something in me moved quite strongly.
This time I did not make it. But someday I will.
"Yes, it is a shame, isn't it?" I replied.
I know. Paris is such a romantic city. When you go to Paris, something in you is stirred. There is a new breath in life. And you remember things long forgotten.
On the way back from Berlin, I passed Charles de Gaulle airport again. I saw the "Trains to Paris" sign. Then something in me moved quite strongly.
This time I did not make it. But someday I will.
Monday, November 09, 2009
"Kinder, schafft Neues!"
I went to a wonderful performance of Lohengrin in the Staatsoper here in Berlin. The inszenierung was by Stefan Herheim.
It was a performance difficult to interpret at first. But then things gradually became clear. Lohengrin, the swan knight. The beauty of trusting and then the dark shadows of doubts. Lohengrin does not come from a far-off land of magic and fantasy. He appears and then disappears from the stage ceiling. There is no topological enchantment there. Everything is stripped of the venerable machines of divination, and we are left only with brutal and prosaic facts. Then we have to start from precisely there.
At the end of the third act, the lights on the ceilings came down. And then a huge sign saying "Kinder, schafft Neues!" was hung from above. The message from Richard Wagner himself.
"Kinder, schafft Neues!" "Children, create new things". In order to create, we somehow have to let free from prejudices and
accomplishments. What words of enlightenment and liberation.
When I walked out of the theatre, the night air of Berlin was definitely warmer. And the Kinder were whispering nearby.
It was a performance difficult to interpret at first. But then things gradually became clear. Lohengrin, the swan knight. The beauty of trusting and then the dark shadows of doubts. Lohengrin does not come from a far-off land of magic and fantasy. He appears and then disappears from the stage ceiling. There is no topological enchantment there. Everything is stripped of the venerable machines of divination, and we are left only with brutal and prosaic facts. Then we have to start from precisely there.
At the end of the third act, the lights on the ceilings came down. And then a huge sign saying "Kinder, schafft Neues!" was hung from above. The message from Richard Wagner himself.
"Kinder, schafft Neues!" "Children, create new things". In order to create, we somehow have to let free from prejudices and
accomplishments. What words of enlightenment and liberation.
When I walked out of the theatre, the night air of Berlin was definitely warmer. And the Kinder were whispering nearby.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
"Longtimes"
When I was a kid, I gradually learned that there were all kinds of people in society. Some are bad, but they are so with some reason, and often not without a charm. Everyone is eager to live. That was one of the first lessons in life. And I keep it.
When I was about 10, I was alone at home. The door bell rang. When I opened it, I saw a man dressed in black suit outside.
"Is your mom home?" he said. I said no. "Is your papa home?" he asked. I said no. "Is anybody around?" he continued. I answered again in the negative.
Then his face became suddenly eager, all his attention apparently being concentrated on me.
"You know, son", he started. "I work for a watch company. And the company went bankrupt. I have some very expensive watches with me. They normally retail for tens of thousands yen. But I have to make money somehow. You must have your pocket money, son. Here's a very lucky proposition. For you, it would be just 1000 yen. How about it, son? Would you like to buy it? Your mom and dad will be delighted"
The man showed me a watch. There was a logo on the face. "Longtimes", it said. "This is a very famous brand", the man assured. "You are very lucky to have this watch just for 1000 yen."
At that time, I knew nothing about watch brands. Some years later, I learned that there is a famous brand "Longines". The "Longtimes" watch was clearly a fake. And a very primitive one, too.
Although I did not possess the knowledge, I said "No, thank you." to the man. Kindly, but with a firmness that a 10 year old can command. There was something oily about the man which I mistrusted. Luckily, the man was not insistent. Maybe he thought I did not have the money with me. He shrugged his shoulders and went off. Although the man was apparently a swindler, I did not dislike the person.
To this day, I vividly remember the logo "Longtimes" on the watch. It has been literally "long times" since that childhood day. It is very strange to say so, but sometimes I wish I had bought the watch. Then perhaps I could have commemorated something. The vulnerability of life, the gullibility of the deceiving, and perhaps the pang that must accompany all living on this earth.
When I was about 10, I was alone at home. The door bell rang. When I opened it, I saw a man dressed in black suit outside.
"Is your mom home?" he said. I said no. "Is your papa home?" he asked. I said no. "Is anybody around?" he continued. I answered again in the negative.
Then his face became suddenly eager, all his attention apparently being concentrated on me.
"You know, son", he started. "I work for a watch company. And the company went bankrupt. I have some very expensive watches with me. They normally retail for tens of thousands yen. But I have to make money somehow. You must have your pocket money, son. Here's a very lucky proposition. For you, it would be just 1000 yen. How about it, son? Would you like to buy it? Your mom and dad will be delighted"
The man showed me a watch. There was a logo on the face. "Longtimes", it said. "This is a very famous brand", the man assured. "You are very lucky to have this watch just for 1000 yen."
At that time, I knew nothing about watch brands. Some years later, I learned that there is a famous brand "Longines". The "Longtimes" watch was clearly a fake. And a very primitive one, too.
Although I did not possess the knowledge, I said "No, thank you." to the man. Kindly, but with a firmness that a 10 year old can command. There was something oily about the man which I mistrusted. Luckily, the man was not insistent. Maybe he thought I did not have the money with me. He shrugged his shoulders and went off. Although the man was apparently a swindler, I did not dislike the person.
To this day, I vividly remember the logo "Longtimes" on the watch. It has been literally "long times" since that childhood day. It is very strange to say so, but sometimes I wish I had bought the watch. Then perhaps I could have commemorated something. The vulnerability of life, the gullibility of the deceiving, and perhaps the pang that must accompany all living on this earth.
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Alienation of the familiar
I flew to Paris from Narita. Right now I am in Charles de Gaulle airport, waiting for my plane to Berlin.
On the airplane soon after takeoff, there was an announcement to the effect that Mt. Fuji was visible on the left side. I looked out of the window. The highest mountain in Japan was seen in the far distance, with its peak just above the sea of clouds. What was striking was its metallic appearance. It was as an alien object, not really belonging to this world.
It was not the Mt. Fuji that I used to look at as a kid from the Shinkansen train. It was not the Mt. Fuji in a Hokusai ukiyo-e. The fact that a familiar thing suddenly appeared as something completely unknown left a lasting impression on me, and for the rest of the flight I was thinking of parallels, the alienation of the familiar.
Then I think the universe shivered and coughed, because I began to consider strange ideas like the possibility of a direct conversation with god.
On the airplane soon after takeoff, there was an announcement to the effect that Mt. Fuji was visible on the left side. I looked out of the window. The highest mountain in Japan was seen in the far distance, with its peak just above the sea of clouds. What was striking was its metallic appearance. It was as an alien object, not really belonging to this world.
It was not the Mt. Fuji that I used to look at as a kid from the Shinkansen train. It was not the Mt. Fuji in a Hokusai ukiyo-e. The fact that a familiar thing suddenly appeared as something completely unknown left a lasting impression on me, and for the rest of the flight I was thinking of parallels, the alienation of the familiar.
Then I think the universe shivered and coughed, because I began to consider strange ideas like the possibility of a direct conversation with god.
Friday, November 06, 2009
The old teacher gets drunk again
The old teacher gets drunk again
I really love Yasujiro Ozu films.
When things get too busy and business becomes nasty as usual, I turn to the Ozu treasure trove. There, I find life as a tranquil harmony, where everything is human size. By getting immersed in the motion picture flow, I literally seek the salvation of the soul.
The other day I was watching "An Autumn Afternoon"again, the last film by the great director. To be precise, I did not have time to watch it. I just let the film go while being busy at work, capturing in the subconscious background the flow of lively conversations that is so typical of Ozu's masterpieces.
In it, the old teacher gets drunk again, after complaining how he is lonely in the final years of his life. The two former pupils, who have become company executives, look after the old teacher. The teacher sleeps on the floor, and then suddenly gets up. Forgetting all that has been said already, he looks at one of his former pupils in the eye, and, as if he realized what kind of situation he is in for the first time, says, "you are mister Hirayama, aren't you?" ("Hirayama san ka?"), and sleeps on the floor again.
It is at such a moment of human stupidity and fragility that makes one convinced of the love with which Ozu depicted our earthly lives. It is so poignant that one wants to cry and laugh at the same time.
The old boys drinking and discussing the plights of the old teacher. From "An Autumn Afternoon" by Yazujiro Ozu
I really love Yasujiro Ozu films.
When things get too busy and business becomes nasty as usual, I turn to the Ozu treasure trove. There, I find life as a tranquil harmony, where everything is human size. By getting immersed in the motion picture flow, I literally seek the salvation of the soul.
The other day I was watching "An Autumn Afternoon"again, the last film by the great director. To be precise, I did not have time to watch it. I just let the film go while being busy at work, capturing in the subconscious background the flow of lively conversations that is so typical of Ozu's masterpieces.
In it, the old teacher gets drunk again, after complaining how he is lonely in the final years of his life. The two former pupils, who have become company executives, look after the old teacher. The teacher sleeps on the floor, and then suddenly gets up. Forgetting all that has been said already, he looks at one of his former pupils in the eye, and, as if he realized what kind of situation he is in for the first time, says, "you are mister Hirayama, aren't you?" ("Hirayama san ka?"), and sleeps on the floor again.
It is at such a moment of human stupidity and fragility that makes one convinced of the love with which Ozu depicted our earthly lives. It is so poignant that one wants to cry and laugh at the same time.
The old boys drinking and discussing the plights of the old teacher. From "An Autumn Afternoon" by Yazujiro Ozu
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Well before my first love
As a child, I collected and studied the butterflies quite seriously. As a result, I learned to recognize and identify most of the species to be observed in and near Tokyo. Sometimes, it is difficult to tell which species while the insect is in flight. But quite often, it is easy to tell the name of the butterfly while it is airborne.
It is the natural instinct of a boy to look for rare species. When you see an unusual butterfly, your heart started to throb.
Sometimes quite violently, too. You wanted to capture the butterfly with the net, but you might also fail. If the butterfly escapes your net, it could well be that you would never see it again.
The moment you see a desirable one, the drama starts. You are in a suspension whether your wishes are going to be fulfilled.
Thus, I learned the sweet anxiety of waiting for the verdict well before my first love.
It is the natural instinct of a boy to look for rare species. When you see an unusual butterfly, your heart started to throb.
Sometimes quite violently, too. You wanted to capture the butterfly with the net, but you might also fail. If the butterfly escapes your net, it could well be that you would never see it again.
The moment you see a desirable one, the drama starts. You are in a suspension whether your wishes are going to be fulfilled.
Thus, I learned the sweet anxiety of waiting for the verdict well before my first love.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Admiration of the moon.
I once visited the House of Light by James Turrell in Niigata. It was autumn, and the house was surrounded by susuki (Japanese pampas grass).
Although a work of art, you can stay in the House of Light overnight.
The night fell, and some delicious dishes were brought by the house staff. While my fellow travelers stayed inside chatting over glasses of sake, I wondered out to the large engawa and lay there.
It was full moon. The moonbeam was shining on everything, on the susuki, on me, on the trees. There was a gentle wind. The insects of the autumn were chirping sweet and consoling music.
I suddenly realized that it was a perfect setting for Tsukimi. The admiration of the moon, especially at autumn times, is deeply rooted in Japanese culture. I have been accustomed to such festivities since childhood, but I have never realized that there could be such a harmony of surrounding elements for the observation of the moon.
I also realized, with a pang of realization, that with the modernizations of Japan a perfect setting for moon admiration has become hard to come by. It was almost like a remorse. In Tokyo, and in many urbanized areas, it is no more possible to find a suitable environment for conducting one of the venerable expressions of Japanese aesthetics in appreciation of the lunar blessing.
As I pass through life, the moon seems to be represent things that have been lost, like a symbol of sweet regret.
Although a work of art, you can stay in the House of Light overnight.
The night fell, and some delicious dishes were brought by the house staff. While my fellow travelers stayed inside chatting over glasses of sake, I wondered out to the large engawa and lay there.
It was full moon. The moonbeam was shining on everything, on the susuki, on me, on the trees. There was a gentle wind. The insects of the autumn were chirping sweet and consoling music.
I suddenly realized that it was a perfect setting for Tsukimi. The admiration of the moon, especially at autumn times, is deeply rooted in Japanese culture. I have been accustomed to such festivities since childhood, but I have never realized that there could be such a harmony of surrounding elements for the observation of the moon.
I also realized, with a pang of realization, that with the modernizations of Japan a perfect setting for moon admiration has become hard to come by. It was almost like a remorse. In Tokyo, and in many urbanized areas, it is no more possible to find a suitable environment for conducting one of the venerable expressions of Japanese aesthetics in appreciation of the lunar blessing.
As I pass through life, the moon seems to be represent things that have been lost, like a symbol of sweet regret.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Oranges
Used to be that when I was a kid, I ate a lot of oranges (mikan).
The Japanese oranges are small in size, and the skins are soft and easily peelable. Used to be that mother would buy lots of them in a box. I would eat 5 or 6 in a row, while being seated in a kotatsu.. The oranges were mainly winter things. I associate the white tranquility of winter times with the sweet sour taste of the oranges.
When I went to Vancouver, Canada at the age of 15, I learned that the Japanese oranges were sold as "TV oranges", as people could eat the oranges while watching the TV. I don't know how widespread this particular expression is. At least Verna told me these were TV oranges.
Learning that my familiar oranges were turned into "TV oranges" conjured a strange feeling for me. It was as if my childhood favorites were being transfigured so that the identity was not recognizable any more.
At that time, I was at a stage of great change myself. Growing up is sometimes like being transformed from a mikan into a TV orange.
The Japanese oranges are small in size, and the skins are soft and easily peelable. Used to be that mother would buy lots of them in a box. I would eat 5 or 6 in a row, while being seated in a kotatsu.. The oranges were mainly winter things. I associate the white tranquility of winter times with the sweet sour taste of the oranges.
When I went to Vancouver, Canada at the age of 15, I learned that the Japanese oranges were sold as "TV oranges", as people could eat the oranges while watching the TV. I don't know how widespread this particular expression is. At least Verna told me these were TV oranges.
Learning that my familiar oranges were turned into "TV oranges" conjured a strange feeling for me. It was as if my childhood favorites were being transfigured so that the identity was not recognizable any more.
At that time, I was at a stage of great change myself. Growing up is sometimes like being transformed from a mikan into a TV orange.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Mother
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.
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.
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.
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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.
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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
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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.
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