In the evening, I most often have a headache, so am delighted to head out once again. This time I go down small side streets, enjoying gardens and the quietness of places off the beaten track. I usually swing up to a Shinto shrine that is on the other side of my home from the morning’s temple. It has a big red Tori gate, a long flight of stairs, two fierce guardians to pass between, and finally the main shrine. This evening I was confronted with something unexpected, a large circle made of bamboo and grasses. I have seen these before, but very rarely, usually for special occasions only. Of course, I went to inspect.

 There was a sign. 

 

It said that the purpose of this sacred item was to pray for those suffering from the Coronavirus and for the earth’s healing from this terrible unwanted intruder. It gave clear instructions how to perform our walking, weaving prayer. We were to bow, pass through the circle, turn left, and back to where we started. Then do the same, going right, praying the entire time. We go left again. And finally, we bow, clap twice, step through the circle a final time and carry our prayers out into the world.

I do not know if this will encourage any physical cures. But I do trust that such sincerely performed rituals change energy fields, bringing us into greater inner harmony so we can deal with life with greater equanimity, courage, and hope.

Love,
Anne

The Yamabushi form a circle around a large pile of green pine branches. They chant and blow conch shell horns that moan across the ritual field. 

They make highly stylized devotional gestures until finally two of them move toward the altar in order to light huge torches with which to ignite the central pyre.

 

Before long the fire becomes a raging blaze of madness, shooting flames to the farthest edges of the ritualistic circle. At that point, two Yamabushi grab buckets of water and hurl it at the blaze, frantically repeating the process again and again. Smoke billows everywhere, as onlookers hold their hands in prayer, receiving the sacred energy of the barely controlled flames.

 


From there, the Yamabushi take wooden sticks with visitors’ prayers and throw them into the fire. As they burn, the hopes and wishes of the devotees ascend upward, where they, hopefully, will be heard and answered.

The fire is raked, salt is thrown into it, and gradually a taming emerges. 

At that point, one Yamabushi goes to a large fire-filled metal bucket emitting a wall of smoke that seems to consume him. He takes a pine branch and thrusts it into water, which he flings around him. All the while, the chanting continues, maintaining a rhythm that is goes to the very core of life itself.

Finally, the ashes and cinders, still very hot, are subdued enough for the most poignant part of the ritual: fire walking. In a very Japanese way, this extreme is balanced with protective elements. Pine branches form a pathway and a mound of salt is the doorway to step on before entering the arena of fire.

The Yamabushi begin the spiritual challenge, followed by visitors who wish to participate. People come locally and from neighboring prefectures. Everyone fully trusts the process.

 

We each brought our own mental, emotional and spiritual attitude. So, naturally, the experience differed for each person. For me, a deep silence and calmness seemed to rise up from the very center of my being. Yet, as I moved over the burning embers, I felt a profound sense of aloneness, as if everything nonessential was being stripped away. I wanted to cry, not from sadness, but from a deep surrender. I knew that moment was a culmination of my entire life.

Just then, my foot hit one lone piece of coal that was still brightly burning. The pain shot through me, but I dared not stop. I kept up my even pace, got to the end, walked through several trays of water, over salt and pine branches, finally to a shelter to dry my feet and put on my shoes. I never gave any indication of my burn. It was mine alone. Happily, no one else seemed to have had that sort of mishap. Later at home, I put ice on it and the next day it was fine.

Even now, several days after that experience, I can feel the profound effect it has had, and is still having on me. It is hard to verbalize, but deep within I know there is a change. And for that I am grateful.

Love,
Anne

What struck me on a more overt level, though, were the designs themselves. They consisted of interlocking geometric shapes of swirls and curves that formed cohesive patterns that perfectly united the background and the applique. Each piece was breathtakingly magnificent. But they did not shout. Rather, they spoke with the quiet dignity of their majestic presence. It was as if the owners both knew and yet did not realize the immensity of their own power and that of their robes.

And sure enough, one room, with one jacket after another gracing the walls, felt like a cathedral. But rather than light-filled stained glass, these were emblems of earth worship and deep reverence and humility before a wiser Ordering Power.

I mulled over the idea that these harmonious, unifying patterns might somehow be the Ainu’s way of manifesting Cosmic energies as they felt and understood them. Seeing their fine work, I felt reassured that even today the world is held together safely and strongly, that there are certain archetypal energies that are universal and eternal. The world felt more unified and stable.

 It is important that company members join this ritual, this test of strength, this demand to put group cohesiveness over individual comfort and desire. And people come, year after year. Groups join to be tested and purified. Individuals come to pray, to hope for a year of good fortune and of luck.

 

It is a happy ritual. It challenges, yes, but also reassures. It draws our hearts and minds to an intangible center that is cohesive and eternal. This ritual reminds us that no matter what is going on in the world, there is a place, a condition where there is peace and trust, stillness and an infinite sense of belonging. What more could we ask in this age of upheaval and ever increasing distrust?


Love, 
Anne

 

The hike was short, the slopes gentle. All six of us walked slowly, at the pace we could manage. It was lovely to have a chance to stop when we wanted to admire the colors, the lighting, the freshness of the air. 

We took a break every twenty minutes, and stopped in a meadow for an early lunch. We each brought something to share: boiled sweet potatoes, pickled daikon, rice balls, and Japanese crackers. None of us knew if we would be up to hiking again next year, so we made the most of every sacred moment.

One woman in particular made the day very special. Of course, on the national stage today was highly significant because of the final ceremony involving the start of the new Reiwa Era. There was a slow, formal motor parade taking the Emperor and Empress to their new home in the Akasaka area of Tokyo. While the adoring crowds were waving flags and snapping photos as the Emperor and Empress passed by, the six of us were up on a mountain having a small tea ceremony. My friend had brought tea bowls, a whisk, hot water, and powdered green tea. 

Right there in the woods, she poured and stirred, and each of us ritualistically sipped our tea, honoring the day in a very traditional Japanese way.

Love,

“This year is really good for persimmons,” she continued. “I have 800 so far. I am not sure where I will hang them to dry. My balcony has a lot and I need space for my laundry. My apartment is already pretty full, too. What am I going to do?” she asks with a sigh. But knowing this imaginative woman, she will find a way.

 

And also knowing her big-hearted generosity, I am sure in a few weeks many folks in the neighborhood will get a fine share of dried persimmons, enough for themselves, and plenty to share.

Love,
Anne

As you know, last weekend Hagibis marched her relentless way through our lives, followed by more torrential rain, with still more to come this week. But this weekend offered a hiatus of sunshine and warm weather. “We have to do this work now between the storms,” the farmer explained. “Come quickly.”

I had thought we were going to pick apples. But I was mistaken. Fuji and certain green apples will be ready later in the season. Our job today was to make conditions just right for these gorgeous balls of tart wonder to reach their perfect peak. We had to clip back leaves near each apple, then turn the fruit slightly so that sunshine could directly hit the side that had not been exposed. In other words, we were to work our way from apple to apple, tree to tree, cutting off leaves, making sure not to pierce the fruit or to cut the tip of branches, which were wombs for next year’s produce.

Each apple was treated with the greatest of reverence and care. Everything was hand done. No machines, only very sharp clippers and ladders.

There were only four of us working today. Besides Noriko and me, there were two elderly gentlemen who did farm work as a way to supplement their meager pensions. At first, they were shy and barely talked, but later they warmed up to us and chatted a bit. But not much. Rural Japanese men are most often sturdy, quiet folk who work long and impressively hard.

In fact, much of today was spent in silence. But there were many reassuring sounds. The snip, snip of the clippers, the chatter of birds, the distant laughter of children at play, and the subtle hum of traffic on a nearby road. It was very peaceful and relaxing, even as we stretched to reach high branches, or bent low to pick up fallen tools.

Mama came just at noon with an unexpected lunch for us, delicious homemade soup. 

After that and a rest, we headed back to the trees to continue the careful, mindful work that help make Fuji apples some of the best in the world.

Love,
Anne

 

“Choose your enemies wisely, for one day you will grow to be like them.”

Some wandering thoughts today. Evil and karma, so much to consider in these days of upheaval and uncertainty.

Karma is a deceptively simple concept. It promises a mirror of sorts, returning to us what we do, think, or say. Yet, in this era of tremendous turmoil, incessantly confronting us with profound ignorance, expressed as evil in so many ways, doesn’t the idea of karma itself call for closer examination and reassessment?

What happens on a Cosmic level to a person who has done great harm to others? Is the response tit-for-tat? “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” Is karma-as-revenge part of a divine plan, or is it human, providing a bullying sense of fairness and justice?

 

And in reverse, “When bad things happen to good people.” Why isn’t good always and immediately rewarded with good?

What if karma, if it does indeed emerge out of Cosmic law, and not human desire, had a different, less direct method of operating? What if we came to believe that karma’s purpose is neither to reward nor to punish, but rather to teach, to uplift individuals and humanity at large?

What if a Hitler, for example, or any other infamously destructive character, were reborn not into a life of punishment, but one of profound love and disciplined compassion? What if his future family were role models of fairness, consideration of others, kindness and dignity? What if life after life he was reborn into circumstances that offered understanding, guidance, and opportunities for greater self-awareness and compassionate sensitivity towards others?

If this “Hitler” were able to transform, thanks to lifetimes of loving direction and self-determination, might that not provide karmic balance? Could the horrific evil he did eventually pierce his heart and psyche, not through punishment, but rather through enlightenment and acute awareness of the suffering of others? Could this deeply felt connection to humanity open his heart wide enough so that he, too, might experience what he had, in his ignorance, inflicted upon others? Might that severing inner pain be a profoundly wise method of karmic compensation for the unspeakably destructive deeds of his past?

In other words, could a Hitler eventually evolve to become a Thich Nhat Hanh, a Dalai Lama, a Buddha, a Christ?  — Through infinite patience and guidance, through changed circumstances and his own free will.

Yet, could humanity tolerate such embracing, loving ways of dealing with evil? Are we ready for that brave step to an entirely different level of understanding and behavior: a karma of compassion and learning under all circumstances. How would society change if we believed and acted so?

These thoughts come after a trip visiting several sacred places in Japan. These havens are pools of peace and stillness amid the loud bustle of contemporary life. In them there is a sense of eternal understanding, guidance, and patience. Maybe they are symbolic of the way karma ceaselessly invites us to learn and to grow towards greater inner and outer Light.

Love,
Anne


PS. In rereading this letter, I realize how simplistic these thoughts are. They barely touch the nuanced, complex, and liberating dynamic that karma promises.

One was not able to attend today, but was included thanks to Skype. 

The purpose of this meeting was to bring together individuals who were suffering from school phobia and those who were deeply concerned for them. Usually such events are only for school dropouts, but today very caring parents were there, too, desperately seeking ways to help their troubled children.

Today’s program was beautifully organized. After very brief self-introductions, we were divided into small groups and directed in playing a guessing game. That was to melt barriers of shyness. Then things became a bit more serious. Again, in groups of three, we were asked to brainstorm ideas on how people learn. In my trio, no one even mentioned formal schooling.

Break time, good for chatting causally. Then re-introducing ourselves, this time in more detail. The response was incredible. Usually Japanese are extremely private and seldom talk about themselves. But in this now-safe environment, floodgates opened. People poured out their stories. Kids talked about being bullied or verbally abused by teachers. Parents, some almost on the verge of tears, expressed their worries and lack of direction in how to help the beloved children. Everyone respectfully listened or nodded in understanding. Group bonds were growing deeper.

The next task was to discuss in small groups education in the past and now. Happily, I learned there is a school new in Sendai, but with branches all over the country. It is called the En School. No one could tell me what En stood for, but the school itself is a very admirable attempt to help kids that are victims of their school experiences and overwhelming fears. It also opens its doors to youngsters who simply find no meaning in a regular education, or who are sports pros and cannot attend school regularly because of frequently going to tournaments.

Indeed, this institution gives its students a great deal of control over their education. For example, there might not be set classes to graduate, but rather students themselves decide what to study and how many days a week they will attend. They can design their own homework and can hand it in whenever they are ready. Several of the five organizers of today’s program were students in En School and seemed to be doing well. In fact, each one of them had a dream for their future.

Those five young adults were very impressive. They organized and ran today’s entire program. It took over two months. No adult was involved. These leaders were intelligent, motivated, polite, and very caring. They carried themselves with dignity and confidence. They worked together well as a team and showed genuine interest in what all the participants had to say. Each one of them said they were involved in this work because they had suffered so much and wanted to help others who were in circumstances similar to their own. And in the future, they would like work that would allow them to continue supporting those in trouble.

The atmosphere those five young persons created was that of total trust and deep respect. The love generated in that room today was palpable. If people like those five will be accepted in Japan’s often overly rigid society, everyone will benefit, and the world, without any doubt, will become a much better place.

Love,
Anne

 

 

“Just now, for example, I am dealing with a broken toilet. I had to call the manager by myself, explain the situation all in Japanese, and make an appointment for the plumber to come. 

“I was lucky this time because I was successful. But that is not always the case. But it is OK. It is all part of living overseas and learning as much about myself as about those whom I meet every day.

“Good luck. It is challenging, but always rewarding. And you can return to Japan anytime. But your overseas experiences will always be part of who you. They can never be taken away.”

Love,
Anne

 



From there, this fascinating tour continues westward, abruptly becoming secular and European. But before entering that continent, it behooves us to consider why this entire show is unique. Surprisingly, each piece in it is a 3-D printed clone. None is the actual original, but rather a copy so well executed that it is barely distinguishable from its parent.

“Cloned Cultural Properties” is an official term coined by the Tokyo University of the Arts. Its purpose is to preserve masterpieces that are fragile and in danger of disappearing. It also greatly expands their exposure, allowing people everywhere to contemplate their varied messages. The tedious task of cloning happily combines art, culture, science and technology. It is so important that faculty and students from TUofA go to sites around the world and painstakingly clone the originals. 




By the time this exhibit portrays a cloned Europe, a sense of imaginative play has entered the equation. Paintings have become sculptures, Van Gogh’s eyes glitter as his shirt ripples. Ukiyo-e prints, so adored by 19th century Europeans, have become short videos or even contain exotic scents. Cats frolic and chase each other, while ocean scenes evoke salty air, gardens emit floral aromas, and gorgeous damsels seduce, using perfume to add to their allure.

 


As we reach the western extreme of this Silk Road journey, what is cloned and what is original are barely distinguishable. Real has become a clone. And a clone had earned its own dignity by being exactly what it was: a prefect replica, a treasure in its own right.

Each clone in this exhibit was purposefully created to honor art worthy of our greatest respect and humility. And in that regard, it succeeds admirably. However, even this noble undertaking must be vigilantly monitored. Original becomes clone, can easily degrade into fake. What is made to perpetuate respect for truth can slide almost unnoticeably into ego-inflated falseness that only degrades all of humanity.

And that is where Trump’s current visit to Japan touches very closely with this exquisite exhibit of clones. He is the master of fake news. Surely, his present juxtaposition to this respect-deserving show gives a dire warning of what our world, actual and cloned, can become if we are not acutely aware.

Love,
Anne