Re-reading a lovely book that I did not remember at all

I know that I read this before so 

I picked it up and turned to the last story in the book

In fact, I often start at the last paragraph if I'm feeling tentative. 

The Most Beautiful Book is made of cigarette papers glued together,

A collection of recipes shared by Soviet prison camp women with their children

Who anxiously await the return of their mothers, never knowing if they

Will be reunited, and I wondered how I would want to be remembered,

Whether it would be the crepes, the ones my own mother made for me,

The ones that were cut into strips for inclusion in the next days soup.

Or the brownies that my mother and I had made, the ones that

My daughter and I made, each generation having learned to

Cut many tiny slices which added up to them being

Consumed at a breathtaking pace.

I don't know why I picked up this book, having no recollection,

One of those brilliant moments that come upon us,

Like the sun rising over the horizon. 

 

Jet lag: the biggest price of travel to Japan

 The body has no idea what time it is,

Wondering why I am in bed when it's mid day in Tokyo!

And why am I am in bed when I'm hungry?

Ah, the price of travel, not the money,

The reality that even the big brained people

Who view their bodies as mere vehicles for 

Transporting the mind are brought to earth

As the body decides how to navigate the 

Fifteen hour, yes, fifteen hour, time change.

The body does not like such things,

Oh no, oh no, 

The body says, I do not like this travel thing,

Oh no, oh no.  

Before I forget - reflections on Japan

Before I forget the feeling of Japan, before I 

Forget the ease of being in their culture, how their manners

Allow a fluidity in daily movement, in spite of not knowing 

More than three expressions in Japanese.  

There is no waste here, the sperm sac of the cod is a 

Delicacy I spite of my recoil, as is every part of the 

Multitude of sea life pulled from the ocean.  

There is a moderation in manner and consumption-

Only on entering the United lounge at Narita airport am

I reminded that most Americans consume way more than 

Is needed, shirts stretched tight over sagging bellies.  

The Japanese smiled at us, visitors to their country,

In spite of who we are, too often loud and messy.  

On the street, they are neatly dressed, the groups of

Salarymen are laughing and chatting together even though

It’s well past the end of the American work day.  

There are no overflowing trash bins, everyone carries

Their trash home to be properly sorted, and restrooms are immaculate, bidets in all public toilets.  There is no toilet paper strewn on the floor like you see in America. 

The workmen directing traffic are polite and neatly dressed.  The gardener meticulously clearing small weeds from the pathway is focused on his work. 

Yet young couples are enjoying life everywhere, holding hands, parents are strolling their babies.

What lessons do I wish to take from the Japanese? 

Be attentive to others needs. 

Speak softly and remember to smile.

Small tasks deserve focus and presence (gardening!)

Clean up after yourself and put things away. 

Don’t over consume.  

Enjoy life and show respect in your actions.  

 

Yep, I’ll just follow him: Japan

 I’ll admit it.

I have no sense of direction so, if forced to travel solo,

Which I am not, in this foreign country with three alphabets, densely populated, with train stations that could 

Contain small cities, this country of Japan,

I would have resorted to lengthy study of physical maps, the ones you can’t even buy anymore,  to imprint the concept of the place into my mind. 

I would have marked every landmark in yellow, and 

Traced my routes in red.  In this day of Google Maps 

And YouTube,  I instead studied videos of people buying 

Tickets to get from Narita Airport to Tokyo Station,  to get an idea of the terrain, and quickly recognized that I would

Have to trust in my abilities once on the ground. 

Yet, once here, I relinquished my agency to my companion, he being so more confident, even in his mistakes, that I often followed him like child, feeling rather pathetic, 

 But also liberated from the task of navigation. 

Instead I could take in the view, the chaotic blur of 

Constant movement, or the peaceful Zen of the gardens.

Finding peace in Kyoto. Wake early.

Finding peace in Kyoto.  Wake early. 

It’s what the French tourist in the packed restaurant advised me, over the hubbub of voices, the Australians

And the English, the Koreans and the Americans,

The sun rises early. Get up.

The empty bus and quiet streets greeted us, 

Instead of teeming hordes of tourists in the temple,

Monks hurried past us, their slippers shuffling along 

The polished wooden flooring. 

Only the birds chattered in treetops, 

Rocks carefully arranged in moss and raked gravel

Tell stories of a mother tiger and her cubs 

Playing alongside a stream.

You will be glad you did.

 

They dress better in Kyoto but what did the Emperor do all day?

She looked refreshingly elegant in her long skirt, jacket and boots as we exited the train station.

They dress better in Kyoto, we have left the drab utilitarianism of Hiroshima behind us.

Our host told me that people in Hiroshima after the war were viewed with suspicion,

The fear they carried radiation on their bodies; some 80 years later has this fear settled 

Into the clothing choices of the people that live there.

I have to wonder, it is so striking.

I detest Trump, and his plans for ballrooms and arches, but

 I do admire the extravagant palaces that the Emperors built in Japan,

Impossible to understand the need for so many empty rooms for hosting messengers, visiting dignitaries,

Royal families, and who knows who else, ridiculous even, but impressive.

We just don't build this sort of structure anymore; the public would be outraged.

Paintings of tigers, eagles, chrysanthemums and all manner of flora and fauna adorn the walls,

Tatami mats cover the floors, but I miss the glitter and extravagance of Versailles, 

The mirrors and furniture which tell me what may have gone on there, and besides,

The movies that we can watch about Louis XIV and his court.  

What did the Emperor and his ilk do all day in those beautiful, but empty, spaces?

Maybe we can never really know.  Like most things in life. 

 

 

Smiling buddhas on an Island near Hiroshima

 

A second day in Hiroshima, 

a short boat ride to a nearby island where

Hundreds of red-capped Buddhas smiled at us.

the jostling crowds in

Nearby shops and restaurants attest to the 

Urgency of life, regardless of past losses,

Of ice cream cones and sushi, glittering souvenirs,

I can’t help but smile at the three dads sitting together,

Each sporting a sleepy baby in a Snugli, 

Laughing together, young fathers having enjoyed 

Their day in the sunshine. Returning to

downtown Hiroshima, the vibe is business, the cityscape 

Cement and glass skyscrapers, the people rushing by,

On their way to the future

That awaits us all.