Buddha

Prairie Post (Today from Hiroshima)

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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.

Prairie Post (Today from Fukuoka)

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Prairie Post

March 11, 2014

(Today from Fukuoka)

The first signs of spring are here, in this harbor city that finds itself closer to Korea than to Tokyo.  The temperature has been climbing steadily and the first fruit trees are blooming.  “Two more weeks, and everything should come into flower,” is what they are predicting.  The sky is blue and there are small waves on the Sea of Japan, glistening and reflecting the bright sunshine. Centenarians write poetry in calligraphy about such scenes, short sentences that capture the moment,

 

“The blue sky hangs over peaceful landscape, charged with busy people.”

 

This city is authentic, not inundated by sightseers; it is a city with people who live here, shop here, work here.  There is a genuine flavor about this port town, the Dutch and German influences are still visible in words and with bakeries and butchers, and they serve coffee with braunem Sirup and decorate spaghetti with Bierschinken. It is a welcoming city, open to guests and proud of their own.  They gather at Tenjin for a good meal or outside in one of the Yatai “tents” that offer a quick meal to anybody who likes to stop by after work.  Anyone is welcome to join: etiquette requires one to talk to those in the next seat.  The city shares its space with Hakata, the city on the other side of the river. There the merchants reside, while in Fukuoka the Shogun warriors once lived.

 

In late spring and early summer, they get ready for the annual festival in which seven teams in white shirts and questionably brief thong “shorts” compete in running a statue built on a wooden platform.  Hundreds of people throw rice and water and the entire city appears to be involved in the race or at a minimum are there to cheer on the rival teams.  Weeks before the festival, the populace prepares with great anticipation. Saki-san also had been heavily involved for many years, until she was almost 100 years old.  She used to own a restaurant and was responsible for cooking the rice to feed her team.  Now Saki spends most of her time taking care of her own affairs; every night she makes sure to have her rooms cleaned up, she may not wake up the next morning, she thinks, and she does not want to leave untidiness behind.

 

Saki talks to a group of longevity researchers who are in town to hear about her secrets.  Perhaps Saki’s secret is to keep her room cold, she does not worry about things, and she is grateful for the care she receives from her children.

 

“When I need care, I know my daughter is here, and for that I am grateful.”

 

Kokoro-san also appreciates the care she receives from her daughter.  At 102, she sits upright in her bed with her daughter right behind her, supporting her physically and emotionally.  Kokoro displays a disarming smile, one that connects to others, a smile that does not display affection but that does demonstrate amiability.  Nobody ever gets upset about her; she is called “Mother” by everybody in this care facility.

 

“You can’t upset my soul or my heart, I will smile, thankful that I am…”

 

Noburu-san also gains the respect of others in this care residence.  He resolutely walks the hallways every day before breakfast and dinner, because he needs to keep up with the physical demands of the day.  He enjoys examining maps, mostly of Japan and Korea, and he remembers his younger days in the navy.  Noburu takes care of his younger wife who also resides in the facility.  He is concerned about the deterioration of her memory.  “Perhaps we should have stayed longer at home,” he observes.  His wife might not have deteriorated so quickly then.  She is his only concern, as for himself, he feels quite robust.  When asked about advice to today’s generation, Noburu reflects for a moment and responds, “Everyone should get a good age.”

 

“Life is short, so live every day, every week, and every year.”

 

The research team sorts through the many longevity clues they receive, they drive from the city to the shore, from small town cafes to countryside restaurants to seek the fountain of youth.  They eat nabe and drink sake, they eat sashimi and steaki and tonkatzu. And when the work is done, they tour the local temple, observe the large sitting Buddha’s intense eyes, they watch weavers, stop at Zen gardens, visit the castle of Kumamoto, and approach Mount Aso, the active volcano in the region. They find a glimpse of the first of the seven lucky gods, Fukurokuju, the god of happiness, wealth and longevity, and they reflect on short poetry:

 

“The Plum Tree in front of the gate is pleasing during the morning light…”

 

Here, centenarians sing wedding tunes just for comfort before going to bed and practice their calligraphy so the lines are as beautiful as the words they express.  Centenarians thrive in this city, here, where people are genuine, where Buddha is revealed from temple to temple, and where centenarians write poetry, one kanji at a time.