It is at these moments that I feel mono no aware, the pathos of things.

A while ago I went to the city of Mito, in the northern suburb of Tokyo, for a day trip. I gave a public lecture there.

On my way back, I was waiting for my express train on the platform. On the next track, there was a local train bound for Oyama, a city in the south of Mito, closer to Tokyo.

It was dusk, and the world was becoming dark. The inside of the local train could be seen in a bright light, through glasses somewhat dimmed by moisture.

There was a man seated, enjoying what appeared to be a can of beer. Apparently the gentleman finished his work in Mito, and was heading home.

I don't know exactly how it happens, but at twilight sometimes the social contexts surrounding me appear to be dissolved. I am alone, in the vast world, and I feel I could be, could have been, and would be, anyone in this complex human society.

I imagined how my life would have been if I was like the guy in the train. Working in the city of Mito, heading home after a day's work, enjoying the consolation prize of a can of beer.

It is at these moments that I feel mono no

aware, the pathos of things.

A carp, a dragon, and the Red Queen

I went to Yokohama yesterday for a public lecture and there was a dragon.

There is the legend of a carp going upstream in a  fall, and then becoming a dragon.

Masaru Sato, a former diplomat and author, recently said to me that a carp actually does not become a dragon. A carp remains a carp.

How true.

It would be rather that in a streaming water a carp needs to keep swimming, just to stay at the same place.

In this sense, a carp in a stream is similar to the Red Queen in Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking Glass, who famously said to Alice: Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place.

Acting Humpty Dumpty in Tokyo.

Qualia Journal.

I was in a public discussion session in Tokyo.

I typically do not stand or sit still. I am always moving around like a five year old child.

Maybe I am one.

I was explaining how intelligence grows in proportion to the range of possible movements. The more room for movement you have, the wider your intelligence would become.

I was moving around explaining the principle of movable space for intelligence, and I sat back on  my chair.

Suddenly, I fell backwards, and I fell out of the platform about 30cm or so high, together with my chair, onto the floor.

As it is typical, I felt that everything was happening in slow motion.

There were cries from the audience, but I was fine. It was just I could not move at all, stuck in the chair, upside down. Some kind people came to help me and my chair stand up and back.

I sat on the chair again on the platform, and participated in the discussion as if nothing had happened. This time, I was careful not to move around too much in my chair, especially not backwards.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a chair, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall, all the nice audience members and all the nice staff helped Humpty get back to the chair together.

Acting Humpty Dumpty in Tokyo.

Another normal day for Ken Mogi, who is five years old.

Flexible as a cat and airborne as a butterfly.

Qualia Journal

For the record, I do not write to do lists externally.

I keep the list in my head.

It is cumbersome and a waste of time to write a list. Many people are satisfied by just writing one. It is rather pompous to boast about a to do list, in my humble opinion.

The world is a chaos, with small world network connections. Things come up, and the to do list needs to be updated constantly.

I therefore have a mental image of the to do list in my brain, and constantly update it in a continuous contingency planning. That way, I can be flexible as a cat and airborne as a butterfly.