Memoirs of a sensei, part three

ACROSS THE WORLD
Memoirs of a sensei
(Excerpts from my journal entries dated August 1997 on the tenth anniversary of my first summer in Japan.)

THREE: Subtle Changes

"Be not afraid of growing slowly; be afraid only of standing still" (Chinese Proverb)

August came. My life began to stabilize. People and things began to distract me.

I sang. I found myself at the centre of the musical crowd in town. Accidentally I began singing in public. One night at the pub the guitar was out and suddenly I was singing Simon and Garfunkel to a roomful of strangers. My confidence slowly began to build.

I travelled. I couldn't speak any Japanese, but I travelled with a friend who had been in Saga for 6 months, so I thought we'd be just fine. It turned out that 6 months of Japanese is pretty basic, so we had an interesting (read: cursed) week. I think we spent more combined hours waiting for transportation in various locales than we actually spent travelling to any given destination. But it was fun I admit. And educational. I learned a lot. I learned not to believe Ben when he says it'll be more rewarding to climb the volcano than pay 10 bucks worth of yen to take the tour bus. I learned to look at the map myself rather than trust his sense of distance when he suggests that we not walk down the volcano the same way we walked up because he'd rather see different scenery and the other way down doesn't look much longer. I learned not to believe Kevin O'Keeffe of County Kerry, Ireland, when he says he'll meet you on Wednesday at 5:30 and will split the hotel bill with you. I learned to bring extra cash because when Kevin decides not to show up, you have to split the bill two ways instead of three which was not what you originally budgeted. I learned to book accommodations ahead because we might just spend an entire day travelling to a famous mountainous area in the pouring rain, only to arrive 40 minutes before the last bus heads back to where we came from, only to find out that all the hotels in the area are fully booked except for the ones that charge 100 dollars per person per night. I learned that a frustrating experience like that can be worth it just because of the split-second glimpse of an amazing waterfall en route, that only I seemed to notice. I learned that sunrises in Japan are spectacular. And I learned that in six short weeks I came to regard my little house in Ise Machi as a home, since coming back to it felt so good after my week of travels.

I wrote. I regularly sat on my 2nd floor patio and mused about the world. Sometimes I watched the reflections of the sunset, and sometimes I watched the moon follow it's course across the night sky. I wish I knew the words to describe the awesome works of Nature, but they are beyond my grasp. Nature is the art of God, I think Dante said. I could never actually see the sun setting because I don't have a clear view from the balcony...too many houses...not too mention the huge statue of Buddha overlooking the cemetery next door. But I could see the effects of the sunset on the sky above me. It reminds me of God, who we can't see...but whose presence effects the world around us every day. It also reminds me of God because it has two distinct natures. It is excruciatingly hot these days, painfully hot, but the heat is necessary for the growth of crops. It gives what is needed whether we like it or not. But that violently hot sun is at the same time so magnificent in it's beauty and artwork, the way it rises and sets, the way it changes the image of a cloud or shines through the leaves of a tree. One entity, two personas. As it is with God, who teaches me things I don't want to learn, and leads me places against my will. But only God knows what it will take to grow me, whether it be extreme heat or gentle breezes. And the art produced by God, otherwise known as Nature -- this moonlight I've grown so fond of, the volcano I climbed last week rising out of the water, the tree that has stood for hundreds of years reaching for the sky and refusing to relinquish it's goal, the dark clouds that move so swiftly across a clear sky to bring thunder and lightning and refreshing rain -- all these things I have seen in one week of living, and the time I take to appreciate them changes me in subtle ways.