Prairie Post
April 5, 2014
(Today from Hiroshima)
It is cool, cloudy, and rainy in this solemn city, appropriate perhaps for the heavy history it continues to bear. The damp weather keeps inquisitive minds at bay; most of the time is best spent in the halls that summarize grave perspectives of the past. The cherry trees in full bloom line the Ōta River and their pink and whitish colors stand in stark contrast to the gray buildings that dominate Peace Memorial Park. The people of Hiroshima have dealt with adversity, and unpleasant weather will not keep them from gathering for the annual Hanami festival with a picnic and with a sake gathering under the cherry trees.
Outside, you see the eternal flame that promises to distinguish when the last nuclear weapon has been destroyed, outside, you hear the peace bell ringing when another reflective person decides to add to the long line of admonishers, outside you see the remains of the dome with dangling pieces of metal and with rubble remaining on the ground around it. And the clock shows 8:15 a.m.
Inside, you see thousands of mosaic pieces, one for each lost life, surrounding a water fountain meant for all the children who had pleaded for water, just water after the attack. The water comes late, too late, but it symbolizes life here, in the formerly destructed city. And the clock shows 8:15 a.m.
Inside, survivors tell their stories about the fireball, about the devastation, about the desperation. About lost family members and about the 1,000 cranes that are supposed to grant you a wish. And the clock shows 8:15 a.m.
Inside, you see hundreds of people lining up to learn about history, old people who may remember and young people who are curious to obtain answers to the “why” question. Inside, you see pictures of burned children, of running adults, of a scorched tricycle. And the clock shows 8:15 a.m.
There is hope that peace is possible, that one day, we will not have to worry about nuclear winters and unnecessary destruction, there is hope that the clock will move one day beyond the 8:15 mark, one day…
This city is a reminder that life will prevail, it did not take 75 years for nature to reappear and for people to reemerge. The people of Hiroshima know their legacy and they continue to be who they are in spite of the city’s past. They welcome guests from all over the world, they have moved into the 21sst century; they use the I-phone to communicate with their guests. “Can you read?” they ask. “Yes, I can read.” “Do you eat pig?” they type in. “Yes, pork is ok.” The waiter brings the food and writes “I hope it will please your mouth.” “Oishii desu, totemo oishii desu!” “Should we have pictures?” “Oh yes, pictures would be nice.” “Can I take picture with my I-phone?” “Yes, you can take a picture.” “Arigato gozaimasu, arigato gozaimasu…” Friendly people, such friendly people here – where perhaps you would expect it the least.
Friendly people also reside in the nearby island of Miyajima, the island not too far from here. Jurojin, the God of longevity, rules here. With his stretched head and white beard he projects calm and wisdom, and he is usually escorted by deer – or perhaps a monkey, a red panda, or a raccoon dog instead? Jurojin sits with six other Gods as part of the seven Gods of Good Fortune lined up in the Daisho-in temple right on the foot of Mount Misen. People come to visit, up the hill, and they walk to the hall of longevity, spinning a series of metal wheels that are inscribed with the sutra. Turning these wheels is said to have the same effect as reading the Buddhist scriptures with benefit of blessings that the reading is believed to entail. So they spin the wheels.
Down below they find the flooded gate which opens to water on one side and to the Itsukushima Shrine on the other. This is a place to walk, to view, and to picture, this is a place symbolizing the peace Hiroshima has been yearning for, here, where resilience and friendliness are side by side, where longevity rests next to tragedy and where the gate is open come high or low water.