Borges' Library

The Snow Moon of February

Shipwrecked and Underwater

 

“‎Life is a shipwreck, but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats.” –Voltaire

ScreenHunter_1060 Mar. 09 10.30In heaven, there will be no more sea journeys, says Virgil. For much of human history, to journey by ship across open waters was thought of almost as an act of transgression. It was something requiring great temerity and audacity. It was therefore something not to be taken lightly.

Crossing boundaries, such journeys often ended in ruin.

Shipwrecked.

Vous êtes embarqués, says Pascal.

Life is a journey; indeed, we are already embarked. This is akin to Heidegger saying we are born into thrown-ness. Our human condition cannot be grasped outside of our everyday projects and situatedness. Everything we know is dependent on our environment (umwelt) and is a necessary reflection of these temporal and cultural limits. But we are also on personal voyages of discovery.

Well, that is maybe the rub. Many people turn their back on the sea and journeys. Our culture now is particularly risk-averse and so maybe this above is all more about the hero's journey…? For maybe heroes alone are brave enough to risk storms and drowning? Montaigne, for example, following Horace strongly recommended NOT going to sea–not ever. Since the rational choice for man is to stay on shore.

Heroes risk everything by setting out to sea.

No, I don't think that's true. For the winds of fate are arbitrary and storms and disaster might find us no matter what–which is why this metaphor was so popular with the Stoic philosophers. For them, the goal was to cultivate one's character so that no matter what disaster strike, the philosopher will be capable of coming out of the catastrophe unharmed by the strength his own self-possession alone. Thus, Montaigne wrote:

The mariner of old said to Neptune in a great tempest, “O God! thou mayest save me if thou wilt, and if thou wilt thou mayest destroy me; but whether or no, I will steer my rudder true.”

Man is shipwrecked in his own existence, says philosopher Hans Blumenberg.

I love that.

My mom would call it a blessing in disguise. I would call it just the way the cookie crumbles.

It’s like Candide, if he hadn't been kicked out of his homeland, if he hadn't met with a shipwreck and washed unto Lisbon shores only there to be almost killed in a mega-earthquake; if he gone up against the Inquisition, if he hadn't traveled across America on foot, if he hadn't killed a baron, if he hadn't lost all his sheep in Eldorado, well, then he wouldn't have ended up sitting there in Constantinople eating some nice candied citron and pistachios where he would dream of spending his days cultivating his garden…

 

 

On Flowers

I just finished a wonder celebration of flowers by Amy Merrick, called: On Flowers: Lessons from an Accidental Florist.

I loved reading about how she longed for Japan--and even felt homesick for this place--to which she had never been. But looking at her arrangements, they were such perfect expressions of Japanese tea flowers (茶花 chabana). My tea teacher was much more well known as an ikebana teacher and she specialized in chabana. I loved her arrangements every week adorning the tokonoma in the tea room.... always dewy and arranged so naturally to appear just as they would in a meadow--out in nature. Like me, she is also drawn to English gardens-- Sissinghurst, which is my favorite garden in the world. 

One more thing that is wonderful about her book, she encourages us to "forage."

In japan, we always did that! Like "maple leaf hunting" (紅葉狩り）.. in Japan, there are things you are meant to appreciate from a distance and there are other things which you need to gather and bring home... I purchased a tiny pair of Japanese scissors to keep in my walking bag for foraging (My neighbors should love that!) Really, in LA, everything now is private property... it is so sad. I press flowers regularly and always have fresh flowers at home.. but I think it is time really to learn how to garden. 

(Today is the first day of winter 立冬 according to the ancient calendar, when The First Camellia Blossoms) 

Kizaemon

Ido chawan.

Of the 26 registered heirloom --or meibutsu teabowls-- the one known as Kizaemon is considered to be the finest of all.

It is thought to display all the greatest qualities of a work of fine art: dignity, beauty, composure and pedigree.

In all probability, when it was "discovered," it was probably just an old rice bowl in a peasant's house.

But Hideyoshi's soldiers had been given strict instructions: bring home anything of beauty you find in your plundering. And so this tea bowl made its way back to Japan-- changing hands for greater and greater sums of money until it became priceless- a treasure of the nation.

In case you were wondering, this is how you open a sliding door

My tea friends were forever teasing me because of my last name.

Ogasawara is the name of a famous school of etiquette.

So each time I did something clumsy

--something that happened many, many times--

they always wondered how somehow of the Ogasawara clan could be so clueless!

 

 

Mogusaen

Last night, when he asked me to remind him where exactly in Tokyo I had lived, I gave the simplest answer possible, by telling him that I had lived in the westernmost reaches of greater Tokyo. 

Practically in Hachioji, I said.

But that drew a blank expression. So I tried again:

You take the Keio Line from Shinjuku all the way out to Hino City, almost to the end of the line in Hachioji. 

But still that drew a blank. So, I gave up sighing and told him: 

It was a wonderful place...

++

In 2012 I traveled to Shanghai to give a talk about Tokyo. I couldn't recall, though, whether I had ever actually located myself in the paper within the gigantic megacity. Going back to look at it this morning, I was so relieved to see that I had indeed written a little about Mogusaen: 

百草園 

It's name means means "garden of a hundred grasses." To get there from Tokyo, you have to board an express train from Shinjuku, heading toward Hachioji. Traveling for about thirty minutes all the to Seisekisakuragaoka station, you have to change to a local train. Mogusaen is the next stop on the other side of the Tama River. Mogusaen just never grew large enough to merit an express stop. Not when I lived there at least. Well, except for when the plum trees were in bloom --since Mogusaen is famous for its plum blossoms. So popular is the garden at that time of year that the trains are completely re-scheduled in order to turn Mogusaen into an express stop during the short plum blossom season. But then, once the flowers have scattered, Mogusaen reverted back to its ordinary incarnation of being local stop again.

Even now, I still can't help but smile all these years later when I think of how blossoming plum trees required the complete rescheduling of one of Tokyo's busiest train lines! 

In addition to the plum blossoms, Mogusaen had its rice paddies, which dominated the landscape (and the soundscape) during the summers. There were even fireflies. But perhaps my most unforgettable memory about living in Hino was the temple. Just a short walk along the river toward the west stood one of Japan's most important Shingon Buddhist temples. Filled with statues of esoteric Buddhist deities and religious items more commonly associated with Tibet--including the thunderbolt and small handbells, it was the most exotic temple I had ever visited in Japan. With a constant stream of chanting coming from the interior and a festival-like feeling surrounding the place all year long, every time I visited there was something new to capture my attention. Fudo-sama is a wrathful deity and the statue of him was surrounded by flames, as well as his name appearing in Sanskrit in the temple. Like the Tibetan thunderbolt, Fudo-sama cuts through people's ignorance and delusions.... yes, he is a Buddhist slayer of evil. Fudo, the immovable. 

My most vivid memory of Takahatafudo, though, had nothing to do with the deity. My most vivid memory of the temple happened during the hydrangea festival. 

紫陽花 Ajisai (or hydrangea) means Purple Globe Flowers --and isn't that exactly what they look like? Every late spring to early summer, the gardens of Takahatafudo temple are lit up by purple hydragea, It is a universe of purple worlds blossoming all along the path behind the pagoda. I looked forward to the hydrangea festival every year. We would go and eat takoyaki and yakitori, and then choco bananas or tai yaki (I am going to cry I miss Japan so much)... anyway, on that day, we were walking behind the pagoda toward the flowers, listening to a mother describing to her blind son just how utterly dazzling the flowers. She was holding his hand as he used a cane and she was so lovingly describing everything she saw to him. Then, as we passed them I heard her saying that it wasn't just the flowers that needed describing because a foreigner was here as well--and she proceeded to describe me in detail to the boy!

I told Tetsuya, "I will never forget this moment." 

And I was right too!  

(Am reading Liza Dalby's novel Hidden Buddhas) & Wonderful video below by 一人旅人 solitary traveler

かたくりの花 (Dogtooth Violets)

This old picture of the baby showed up in my newsfeed. It's about ten years old so that means he was around six. We were out to see the still-frosty hills near our house blanketed in purple blossoms. The flowers are one of my favorite flowers of the year. But would you believe that for the life of me I could not recall the name of the flowers in Japanese or English?

Now, I am really feeling old.

Thankfully, I started blogging around that time so going back to the start of my blog I found the post on かたくりの花. 

(March 26, 2007)

Erythronium japonicum.

The Japanese dogtooth violet--just like its American counterparts--is a small flowering plant that grows along shady hillsides. Understated is to put it mildly. These stubby little lilies are reminiscent of wildflowers --but because they don't flower every year, the blossoms are even less noticeable if that's possible. Especially compared to the cherry blossoms which bloom just a few weeks later and which are so dramatic they are able to utterly transform an entire landscape. Compared to that, these little blossoms seem hardly worth the time. And yet, the hillside is always packed with flower viewers. On this day, I remember all the amateur photographers camped up along the edge of the path waiting for the perfect shot.

"The perfect shot."

And in addition to the flower photography enthusiasts, hikers and flower lovers were hiking upward toward the top of the hill: "Oh, look, aren't they adorable?" "Look at the lovely white ones." Like I said, at first glance it was almost hard to believe. But then looking a little closer-- yes, those little dogtooth violets could really break a person's heart they were so sweet. Like ferns, they seem somehow almost prehistoric, with their one heavy flower bobbing on the end of a leaf-less, squat stem. The Japanese variety have very attractive mottled leaves which are almost mossy or ferny looking. Built low, the pendant flowers seem like they are almost too heavy for the stems to support. An older gentleman who was eavesdropping on our conversation as we stopped to point something out to the baby piped in to mention that the mature plants we were looking at were eight years old and that only one of many many plants will blossom at the same time so that there are good years and bad years for katakuri viewing. Eight years, no wonder people applaud them.

There are so many reasons to love Japan--none the least the way this humble little blossom is appreciated. Indeed, the humble katakuri have been revered at least since the times of the Manyoshu Poems. The Collection of the Thousand Leaves is not only Japan's oldest poetry anthology, it is without question its most beloved. The poems in the collection date from 600 to 794 ad, and they are really thought to capture the spirit of the Japanese people. I think poems about sakura are surprisingly absent from the collection. Still the collection is full of flowers-- to put it mildly! And, not surprisingly, our little dogtooth violet makes an appearance.

大勢の乙女たちが入り乱れて水を汲む、寺の泉のほとりにひっそりと咲くカタクリの花よ。

Dogtooth violets inconspicuously blooming/ In the crannies of the fountain, where young women are noisily drawing water  

Because their heads point shyly downward they have been idealized as lovely young women since ancient times, and even in the year 2007, all around the hillside we heard them praised for their feminine gentleness やさしい and prettiness 可憐な.

Watching the men who lined the hillside path cameras held patiently in their white-goved hands, I wondered what exactly they were each hoping to capture? And, how would they even know when the perfect moment had arrived?

In the traditional art of Ikebana, the main aim is for the practioner to transport the beauty of flowers-- such as they appear in their natural state in the fields or mountains-- into the very different setting of being cut and arranged in the interior of a room. In other words, the object is arrange the flowers in such a way as the bring about their maximum inherent beauty as it exists in nature. Ike-bana literally means "living flowers"-- an interesting name given that one is significantly shortening the livespan of the flowers by cutting them and placing them in a vase. But, an ikebana teacher might argue that, no, quite the opposite to shortening their lives, ikebana aims to give the flowers a kind of immortality. By meditating on their true essence in order to arrange them in the most beautiful way possible to express their inner nature, the Way of Ikebana is actually the way of "living flowers"-- hence the name, perhaps?

A famous ikebana teacher wanting to answer the question why people can be moved so deeply by flowers said simply, we love them because お花は一生懸命咲きます。Flowers bloom "ishokenmei." "Ishokenmei" is another uniquely Japanese word that is rather hard to find a fitting English equivalent. "Ishokenmei" connotes someone throwing all their energies-- their very Self-- into something. That is, throwing one's heart and soul into something. I really like that. "Flowers bloom with all their heart." "Flowers bloom to the utmost of their ability to bloom." Its true, most flowers either don't bloom at all or seem to hit the 100% mark. If they aren't duds, they are perfect. Even those humble little katakuri on the mountainside. Taking a full eight years to produce a flowers that seems almost impossibly too heavy for its wobbly stem, when it finally blooms; well, it is perfection. And for that it is something to marvel.