black eggs

a Kitty for Kelly.


Mad Max (III), you've met your match: a barren land of eternal rolling steam, the sulfuric aroma of black eggs, and bubbling volcanic ponds.

A morbid landscape that incites such deep premonition - beautiful, deep premonition.


[Owakudani, Hakone]

UP

When I remember this scene, I think of Kevin, and UP.





For centuries, couples, comrades, writers, artists, lingers, and princes have strolled along Kyoto's Philosopher's Path for pure delight under the sakura leaves - a flash of youthful beautify before our very eyes.



Two weeks, or so - that's how long they last in their glory.
And then
they cry.
It begins to snow...

and the world is back to the way it was.



The fleeting sakura are symbolic of the youthful beauty that swiftly escapes us - sooner than we realize - though we might say more of the beauty of love and lasting memories, more precious and less ephemeral than a mere photograph.

In honor of the great Bart, and a toast to him this past Friday, the 23rd of April, here are reflected the sakura, interwoven in his text:

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd."

Well said, Will.

[Philosopher's Path, Kyoto.]

luck alone

A natural beauty. Today, we are in luck.
----------------------------------------------------

"To remember me by," said Tono Chujo, giving in return what was recognized to be a very fine flute. The situation demanded a certain reticence in the giving of gifts.

The sun was high, and Tono Chujo's men were becoming restive. He looked back and looked back, and Genji almost felt that no visit at all would have been better than such a brief one.

"And when will we meet again? It is impossible to believe that you will be here forever."

"Look down upon me, cranes who skim the clouds,
And see me unsullied as this cloudless day."

"Yes, I do hope to go back, someday. But when I think how difficult it has been for even the most remarkable men to pick up their old lives, I am no longer sure that I want to see the city again."

"Lonely the voice of the crane among the clouds.
Gone the comrade that once flew at its side."

[The Tale of Genji, Murasaki Shikibu. Ch. 12]



[Kinkakuji Gardens, Kyoto]

iwatayama snowballs

little snow ball in Kyoto




"I should have stopped in all my evil plotting to have that manicure. "



[Iwatayama Park, Kyoto]

through the back window

[1: Arashiyama, Kyoto
2: Arashiyama, Moon Crossing Bridge, Kyoto
3: Philosopher's Path, Kyoto
4: Arashiyama, Kyoto]

companions

Some people don't have a dog.



Still, there's someone special for each of us.

[1. Road to Todaiji, Nara
2. Miyajima, JP]

billowing overhead

   [The Fabric of Life, by Kay Ryan]

It is very stretchy.   

We know that, even if   

many details remain   

sketchy. It is complexly   

woven. That much too   

has pretty well been   

proven. We are loath   

to continue our lessons   

which consist of slaps   

as sharp and dispersed   

as bee stings from   

a smashed nest   

when any strand snaps —

hurts working far past   

the locus of rupture,   

attacking threads   

far beyond anything   

we would have said   

connects.

W00t, w00t. I'm CAT!

[Photo credit to Miss Elyse Goldberg]





For the three-goddesses: the floating palace of Itsukushima-jinja shrine.
I would love to have seen a kabuki performance here on the floating dock.

A stroll beneath the billowing mass of linen fabric that blanketed the village of Miyajima below inspired me to want to climb up to the storefront lofts and leap from them onto the clouds of fabric.

The breeze here was soothing; it very much flattered the sheets.

daibutsu

A group of monks stood in line just in front of me. (They had traveled south from the North, Hokkaido.) I huddled alongside them, totally blending in (yeah, right), and so I was fortunate enough to have the same, grand private tour as them at Kamakura's Daibutsu. Into the abyss of the patina-worn meditator, we began our descent.

We granted the humble portal guard 200 yen as we filed in, one-by-one, eager to sink deeper and deeper into the hollow cast of the great Buddha.

Honestly, he's not quite as big as the Marshmellow Man, but he's big.

[Daibutsu, Kamakura]

monk on a bike

I just saw a monk on a bike.
There he goes.
Did I just see that?

Elyse and I stand there, jaws dropped, eyes stretched open, gazing at this wobbly figure trembling at the handle-bars. Dude. He's so out of control. His wheels spin rapidly as he rolls down the speckled gravel path toward the garden entry gate.

It is the first of April, 2010, and the morning silence has waned.
8:32 AM: Good morning, RyoAnji!

Three bystanders along with ourselves stand frozen as we watch this figure speed past us. He has warm eyes, Dumbledore round-rim glasses, and looks as though he's just seen a ghost! His olive-toned monk garment flows, billowing sleeves and long tail in the air that sweeps up from beneath him and then past him as he teeter-totters back and forth on his rustic duty bicycle that transports him oh-too-swiftly down the path and totally out of control.

Elyse has my Nikon D50 (aka: my God-given, trusting American friend's treasure. Thanks, Mike) and brings it down from her face while she and I gaze back and forth with eyes wide open at the monk and then at each other in surprise as he rolls down the path straight at us and at what seems like a speed of 20 mph. (Elyse had been setting up to take a picture of me on the path in front of the RyoAnji garden lake.)

The bike is headed right for us!

We each jump back a few steps so that he doesn't hit us. The bike wheels are spinning so fast. It tumbles bump-it-i-ly past us toward the jinja torii gate - where we entered.

There he goes, whizzing past us - a small monk on a bike and out of control.
Where is he going?

He passes us; at this point, he's almost through the gate. Elyse, out of subconscious reaction, nervously snaps a photo of the tumultuous happening from behind. And so, I credit the image for my blog to Elyse.

The scene began to fade in the distance,
It was this shaky event and yet it is burned on my brain. I can never forget it and I will always remember it.

A monk on a bike.
I just saw it.

After his escape, Elyse and I just looked at a each other from across the path. Our mouths, once gaped open wide, turned to a grin beginning at the corner of our lips, and then we burst out laughing. We both smiled. Elyse let out this big, stretched, "Oh my God... ," smiling, then closing her eyes tight and shaking her head while smiling still.

I smiled and felt warm on the inside. My first thoughts were,
A) "I hope he's OK!" And,
B) "That was awesome."

There it was - the raw snapshot that would last with me forever. I also happen to like it!

This is the inspiration for my photo journal - the things I see in life and record in order that I can remember them. These images are of personal significance. My journal is raw - genuine.

---------------------

I was a young girl, and one who neither understood nor appreciated Asian art, let alone the culture, nor had I ever really elected to go out of my way to do so. I was familiar with China: Yea, Mulan! Thailand? Hey, I can appreciate tigers and the Bamboo Bistro across the street. But Japan?
I knew nothing. 
Sooo naive.

I was an eager sponge of knowledge then - a Boston academian. Don't let the name of the city and my wordiness fool you. I was a wannabe Boston know-it-all when really I had everything to learn. (And, sure, I'm still a wee bit elitest.)

It was years ago that I faced the big decision to invest in a certain course, and this commitment would change my life: Japanese Art and Culture 326, under the provision of Alice Tseng. This was only the beginning. My commitment to this course represented my good intentions and effort to understand what it was that made the Japanese tradition of art so beautiful, also how this tradition changed and what still makes it so beautiful.

What was it in Hiroshige's woodblock prints, and what spurred the agape expression that possessed some when they stood before a wooden monument that looked so plain and, well, simple?!
I didn't get it, but I do now.

Years went by as I mulled over the idea of whether or not to commit to a ticket to Asia.
The thirteenth of April, 2009, I committed. FINALLY! Thanks, Lowell.

It was set in stone that March 30, 2010 I would fly from LAX to Kansai International Airport. I was open to the experience while I hoped that I would experience something great. I really do feel someone set me up for this in life. I needed it.

My experience in Japan was a huge wake up call, and eventually it led me back into academia. My time there lasted thirteen days and twelve nights.

-------------------
Having been and gone, I can think of one word to summarize my time in Japan: Unbelievable.
My time here time rendered some of the best days of my life. Plus, I caught sight of a monk on a bike... who was speeding! How many people can say that? Yep. I'm one lucky girl.