I know I have not been updating my blog lately…since the disaster last spring, to be precise. I’ve considered being a regular blogger…but somehow Facebook has seemed to win out until now. I sense that might be shifting…we’ll see!
In any case, while most of the photos from my incredible monthlong tour through my partner Sheila’s home country of Brazil are indeed up on my Facebook page, I would like to devote a special post to documenting some of the incredible live music I was able to indulge in during our visit….seriously, probably some of the best music shows I have been fortunate enough to attend—ever.
I’ll start with São Paulo, near Sheila’s hometown of São Bernardo do Campo (not to mention one of the largest metropolises (metropoli?!) in the world!), which seems to be dotted with amazing live music venues everywhere you look. On our first night in town, our incredibly sweet host Barbara (an old friend of Sheila’s) took us to a live performance of Funk Como le Gusta, an amazing ten-piece Brazilian ensemble that straddles the genres of samba-rock, funk, salsa (and probably more!). Here they are singing a tune in Spanish with an incredible groove, “Muchaca Fantástica”:
Toward the end of the evening, the band members came down off the stage with their instruments (those small enough to carry ) and jammed right in the midst of the dancing crowd…totally amazing energy. I would say this was easily the best live show I’ve been to in my life! It was put on by an organization known as SESC whereby students and employees pay a monthly fee and get access to a variety of cultural programs for a very low price. Nice!
Around midnight, after stopping for a snack of salgadinhos (fried yummies) at a local convenience store, we made our way to a cozy little samba bar lovingly referred to as the “quadradinho” (little square box, that’s how small it was!) with live musicians in the house. Again, a totally amazing atmosphere. Here are Sheila, Barbara and our lovely friend Camila samba-ing away…it’s a short clip, and I was trying to keep my filming low-key by not shoving my iPhone in peoples’ faces (!), but it gives a taste of the music and the vibe:
After catching a few hours of sleep back at Barbara’s place, we made our way the next day to a fantastic street fair about an hour’s bus ride outside of São Paulo (err, I’ll check on the name of the town and update later that apparently happens every Sunday. The market was spread out for blocks and blocks, with lots of crafts, plants, clothes, food, and yes, music! After wandering leisurely around the stalls for awhile, we made our way to a restaurant with outside tables to indulge in some yummy food and beer while enjoying the chilled-out atmosphere. This little live music session was happening right near our table, so of course as soon as I heard this fantastic song, I had to run over and film (!). Great stuff…and I love how the dude at the bottom left of the screen seems to be getting into it as well!
On our last night in the city, Barbara took us to a fantastic little Italian restaurant featuring live jazz musicians. The atmosphere speaks for itself, so here it is:
While much of our trip was about family, friends, food (and more food ), I also have to admit that I did do a fair bit of groupie-esque show hopping, as I was determined to see my two very favorite Brazilian artists, Ana Carolina and Seu Jorge, performing live during our stay. Ana’s official website had shown no performances happening at all…and it was only *after* arriving in Brazil that I found out that the site was in fact undergoing a transition, and that she was going to be playing in several cities during our stay! We nearly went to see her perform at the Festival de Inverno (Winter Festival) in the must-visit northeastern state of Bahia, but realized scheduling would be a bit too tight. I got over this initial disappointment in a big way when I discovered that not only would Ana be playing in Rio the following week, but that the Back 2 Black Festival would be taking place in Rio in the interim… featuring not only Seu Jorge, but also Chaka Khan and Prince! My music angels were on my side here for sure.
Back 2 Black was held in a now-closed train station that had been converted into an event space for the weekend, and the festival featured a combination of live music performances, DJs, and speakers on various political and cultural issues. The big shocker of the weekend was when Prince suddenly canceled his performance just days beforehand in a one-liner e-mail with no other explanation. While this was a huge insult to fans–particularly since he had top billing for the whole event, with his own separate stage and performance ticket– the rest of the festival was just so fabulous that I found myself not even caring!
Although I’d always wanted to see Chaka perform live, I couldn’t bring myself to pay the insanely high price of tickets in Tokyo. (For perspective: I can see Brenda Vaughn, who I’d say is just as talented, perform in Tokyo about five times for the same price as seeing Chaka once!). However, being in the second row of her show was actually an even more thrilling experience than I imagined. Here she is, getting real and personal with the audience before giving a stunning performance of Angel. The lighting makes it hard to see her face for a good part of this, but the vocals–pure Chaka–come through great!
And speaking of being high (!), here is Seu Jorge with his band Almaz performing Pai João (My Father John) on the last night of the festival. While his voice is as rich and gorgeous as always, he seemed kind of aggressive and pissed off during his performance. Sheila and I were wondering whether he might have been irritated about the fact that the festival was taking place in his hometown, Rio, surrounded by favelas (where he himself grew up), while the combination of the high ticket price and continuing socioeconomic problems facing black people in Brazil meant that there was a pretty weak representation of black people at the event itself…pretty ironic to say the least given the festival’s ostensible purpose. The lyrics of Pai João focus upon the poverty of the favelas, and actually he sang it again during the encore…perhaps to drive the point home. (Or maybe what we sensed was just from the weed (!)…hard to say.) In any case, here’s the clip…and a great article where he discusses politics, culture, music and more can also be read here.
While we unfortunately didn’t make it to the discussion sessions on issues of ecology and communication, we did attend the first evening’s program titled “democratization, non-violence and social media”, where Wael Ghonim was videoed in live from Dubai to talk about the Egyptian revolution and the potential that it holds in terms of showing the world how to create societies built upon respect, inclusion, and justice. Love that this is now continuing to spread and deepen all around the globe right at this moment…yay! His talk was absolutely fantastic…while I unfortunately can’t find it on You Tube, here he is via TED.com speaking on similar issues:
Finally, last but oh so most definitely not least, the exquisite Ana Carolina. After visiting with close friends for a week in Brasilia and Bauru (and falling in love with our friends Marcio and Junior’s adorable, completely lovingly handcrafted Thai restaurant), we headed back to Rio for one night to pick up our bags that our AirBnB host kindly let us leave at his pad…and to see Ana’s show.
Once again, being so close to such an incredible performer and human being was an amazing experience. Here she is at the end of the show…all of the camera-waving (and bad singing : ) from the folks in the crowd make this a bit of a rough watch, but it all just goes to show what an icon she is (particularly among her lady fans).
And just to make up for the crappy video quality, I’ll throw in Ana and Seu Jorge performing during their incredible joint live show in 2005:
Brazil is an amazing country, and I am so thankful for all of the incredible people I met (including Sheila’s huge lovely family), as well as all of the experiences I was able to have. As Seu Jorge points out in the article linked to above, it is a country that is experiencing huge changes at this moment, with deeply entrenched problems remaining (as anywhere, I guess?), but also with many opportunities now within reach in a way that they weren’t before. This piece gives an interesting take on the Occupy Brazil movement now underway…and I’ll finish this post with a clip from Curitiba Zero Grau, a film that is now screening at the Cinema Brasil Festival in Tokyo that shows the complex intersections between class and race, and how human warmth and connection can help us transcend these divisions.
Nineteen years had passed since I lived in Hiroshima as an exchange student, and as I sat in the bullet train that carried me back to the city, I mused that this was not exactly how I’d imagined my homecoming would be. My bag had been hurriedly packed at the crack of dawn that morning in Tokyo, my home of ten years, with a two-day change of clothes—although I had no idea how long this trip would last. My heart had been heavy as I picked up and kissed my peacefully sleeping cat early that morning before firmly affixing my face mask and hat in place and heading outside into the chilly March air.
My partner and I rode the train in silence, and when we parted later as I made my way toward Hiroshima and she went to work, she promised to join me in a day or two. Somewhere just beneath my own level of perception, however, I knew that she had only said that to make me feel better, and that she wouldn’t be coming.
Three days earlier, the monstrous disaster of a 9.0 earthquake, tsunami, and subsequent nuclear power accident had quickly twisted a beautiful Friday afternoon into something that nobody saw coming. Immediately after hearing the news, a worried friend had called and invited me to come visit her in Hiroshima. While fleeing to safety was indeed tempting, and I did have work flexibility as a freelancer, I did not want to leave my partner behind. After much hesitation (and at her insistence), however, I finally decided to accept. While there, I also planned to meet with hibakusha—survivors of the 1945 atomic bombing—in order to get their perspectives on the situation unfolding in Fukushima. And so it was—the irony of my destination noted—that I joined the throngs of “genpatsunanmin” (“nuclear power refugees”) who were heading westward for safer climes.
My first week or so after arriving was a bewildering swirl spent mostly in internet cafes frantically trying to follow and then e-mail/post/tweet to others multiple conflicting news reports about the unfolding nuclear disaster, while also feeling guilty about my own safety when others were left behind in harm’s way–particularly those suffering with few or no relief supplies in the bitter Tohoku cold.
After several days of this, I finally ventured out with some Hiroshima-based anti-nuclear activists to the site of an ongoing struggle against a nuclear power plant in neighboring Yamaguchi prefecture.
Around this time, I also met up one night with a friend for dinner. She was interpreting for a Canadian journalist who had similarly come to Hiroshima in order to make the connection between those exposed to radiation then and now. My friend chided me teasingly for not having brought my business cards with me—a must for any remotely professional social situation in this country—and I blurted out that I should be forgiven given my status as a nuclear power refugee. Immediately, the air shifted in the small room where we were sitting, and I could suddenly feel the presence of the three ladies seated next to us. They had stopped talking, and focused their attention on us. My face burned as I realize I had spoken too loudly regarding a subject that was far too sensitive in this city.
The ladies immediately smoothed over the discomfort by engaging us in friendly conversation. People in this city are extremely outgoing—a characteristic I recalled from my experience studying there nearly twenty years prior. While Tokyo residents largely ignore one another unless they are already acquainted, the energy between people in Hiroshima—even strangers—tends to be lively, animated, engaged.
The Canadian journalist told the women that he was in town to speak with hibakusha about the disaster, and two of the three women said that their own parents were also survivors. One woman murmured that after her mother saw the images of the destruction in Tohoku on television on the night the earthquake and tsunami struck, she had nightmares of her own childhood experience. When they asked where I lived and I mentioned that I had left Tokyo due to the recent disaster, they immediately commented upon the earthquake and how frightening it must have been. I replied that yes, it had been indeed, but that the fears of possible radiation exposure also motivated me (and many others) to leave the city. They remarked that they thought it unacceptable for the Japanese government not to be releasing the true extent of the damage at the Fukushima plant, but behind their words I sensed a hesitation, a subtle unease. After the evening was over, I again regretted my own insensitivity, being so forthcoming with my own fears given their family histories.
As each and every person I met responded to my having come from Tokyo with some version of “oh yes, it is much less earthquake-prone here!”, I soon learned that the issue of hibaku (exposure to radiation) was indeed layered with complex sensitivities in this city—a subtlety that my twenty year-old self had apparently missed back in my university days. This was definitively confirmed for me several days later when I met with a hibakusha herself, who was the founder of an organization called Hiroshima Interpreters for Peace. Unlike most others I encountered, she was keenly interested in discussing the connections between Hiroshima then and Fukushima now.
Keiko Ogura was eight years old when the United States dropped the atomic bomb on her city in 1945. Some premonition had told her parents to keep her away from school on August 6th, and she recounted that after the devastation struck, dazed survivors with strips of burned flesh hanging from their bodies slowly walked past her home, begging for water. Trying to help, she obliged by bringing them a drink from the family well—after which time several of them began vomiting and then died right in front of her eyes. When her father returned home that night and warned his children not to give water to anyone because it could kill them, fear and shame kept her silent about what she had done. She suffered nightmares about the experience for decades—and it was only after her father passed away that she finally began to speak with others about what had actually happened on that day.
Obviously, this experience speaks to the depths of what any human being should ever have to endure, much less an eight year-old child—and nothing compares to the hell of nuclear destruction as deliberately wrought upon Hiroshima and Nagasaki by United States government order in 1945. For Ogura, however—as well as the mother of the woman I met in the restaurant, and perhaps for many other survivors—the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear power plant disaster dislodged certain memories that had long lain dormant.
When she saw the images on television from the Tohoku disaster, Ogura said, she had an instant childhood flashback to the day after the bombing. Curious to see what happened, she had climbed atop a hill near her home and was shocked to see that the entire city was crushed, flattened and burned to complete unrecognizability. The two images, she says, were identical.
She told me that within the movement to abolish nuclear weapons, the issue of nuclear power had been marginalized and ignored due to political reasons, but that there were definite connections between the two—particularly at the level of human suffering. “I am very afraid for those now living near the Fukushima nuclear power plant,” she said. “Everyone within 20 kilometers was evacuated following the accident, but those in between the 20-30 kilometer radius are being told to stay inside their homes, while no trucks will dare bring in supplies due to fears of being irradiated. It has been two weeks since the disaster happened, and so those people are starving right now.
“I also fear they will face social discrimination similar to that which we hibakusha from Hiroshima and Nagasaki have endured,” she confided. “People have an image of us as being dirty and contaminated, and unfit as marriage partners because our children might be born dead or deformed—so many survivors actually lied about their status as hibakusha, sometimes making up stories about having been travelling away from the city on the day of the bombing.
“In fact, some survivors have had children born with problems related to radiation exposure, but since everyone is afraid of attracting negative attention, many people have not reported them—and therefore we still have no accurate data. In order to avoid a repeat of this situation following the accident in Fukushima, we absolutely need to break through this culture of silence and misconceptions in order to get real facts about the effects of radiation—and then make sure that this information is neither exaggerated, nor used to fuel further discrimination against hibakusha,” she emphasized. “What we survivors can do for those in Fukushima now is reach out to encourage them and help them to rebuild their communities, as well as help organize solidarity and support internationally, just as we did following the Three Mile accident.”
Ogura’s words heavy on my mind, I left shortly thereafter to take a day trip to Nagasaki to meet Crystal Uchino, an activist from the United States who was living in Nagasaki. Although we had communicated through e-mail on several occasions, we had never met in person. Shortly after I arrived in Hiroshima, she had sent me an intensely poignant essay titled “Rise Like Tsunamis after the Earthquakes” that she composed in the days following the disaster.
Her words touched my core, and I knew that I had to take the opportunity to reach out. Crystal and I spent the day talking like old friends as we walked through Nagasaki, which is a beautiful bayside city dotted with temples, shrines and rivers. It was only a short visit, but I found it immensely healing to be spending this time with someone who turned out to be a true kindred spirit in many ways.
Riding the train back to Hiroshima that night, I decided that the following day would be my last day there. I was tempted to stay longer, to explore the city further, to go deeper with the connections I had begun to forge. I decided, however, to return to Tokyo to move on with life—in whatever direction my partner and I would decide that to be.
The next morning, I set out to take one last walk along the city’s glorious riverbanks. Hiroshima and Nagasaki were both two of the loveliest Japanese cities I have ever visited, and in thinking about the connection, I found myself recalling the words of an Iraqi intellectual I once saw interviewed, who theorized that the United States war machine deliberately targeted sites of beauty for destruction. I realized that I now understood the comment even more deeply.
As I continued pondering the strange twists of life while enjoying the picture perfect weather, I found myself feeling twinges of guilt as I imagined those in eastern Japan shut up indoors and unable to enjoy the simple pleasure of a walk outdoors while inhaling fresh air. Again, the irony of this was not lost on me as I passed by numerous signboards with photos of the horror from 1945, when many of those dying from burns and acute radiation poisoning poured into the city’s rivers to seek relief.
I also recalled the words at that time of writer and environmentalist Terry Tempest Williams, who grew up downwind of nuclear testing in Utah and saw abnormally high rates of cancer in her own family and community. During a 2006 interview, she said the following:
The Japanese have a word — aware — which, in my understanding is that full range—both the joy and the sorrow of our life. One does not exist without the other. And I really feel that. I recently got back from Hiroshima and it was fascinating to me how the Japanese accommodate this paradox. We were talking about this word aware, which on the page looks like “aware,” which speaks to both the pain and the beauty of our lives. Being there, what I perceived was that this is a sorrow that is not a grief that one forgets or recovers from, but it is a burning, searing illumination of love for the delicacy and strength of our relations.
These words continued to play in my mind the next day, back in Tokyo, as I stood in line at the U.S. Embassy. One more reason I had decided to return from Hiroshima at that point was because of an urgent announcement regarding a limited-time distribution of potassium iodide pills to U.S. citizens, which were to be taken in the event of a nuclear emergency. While I was not so concerned for myself since they are apparently not effective for those over 40 (I am 39), I did not want to miss the opportunity to secure an allotment for my partner, who is nine years younger. She is Brazilian, but her country’s government—in addition to being slow to provide its citizens with information regarding the crisis—offered no such service. Although skeptical of chemical medicines, in this situation I did not want to turn away any potential remedies.
And so, two masks affixed firmly over my face, having passed through several guarded Embassy checkpoints and placed my belongings through a scanning machine, I found myself facing the surreal quality of the whole situation with an emotion whose poignancy did indeed have qualities of both the pain and beauty that Williams spoke of. I was conscious first and foremost of a profound sadness at my country’s militarizing what in my opinion should be normal situations, such as flying on an airplane or visiting a public facility. At the same time, however, I felt a surge of hope deep in my bones that we had indeed arrived at the historical moment called for by the Hopi—the people indigenous to regions including my home state of Arizona— to transcend our present socioeconomic systems that had caused so much suffering for human beings and our Earth, and together begin creating the positive, sustainable future that would ensure our survival rather than our destruction.
Back at home, pills secured, I continued my Internet searching for further sources of inspiration. I find this You Tube video dated March 24, 2011, titled “Pray for Japan: A Message from Dennis Banks”, featuring a well-known Native American rights leader.
I had the honor of speaking with Dennis Banks in Hiroshima following the atomic bombing memorial ceremony on August 6, 2007. His connection with Japan is longstanding, as he was in the U.S. military stationed near Sunagawa in the environs of Tokyo during the 1950s, where he told me he witnessed a group of activists and monks who were brutally beaten by fellow soldiers while engaged in peaceful organizing to protect their farmland from being confiscated for military use during the Sunagawa Struggle of 1956—an experience that he said radicalized him enough to leave the military and go into a life of organizing.
Sitting in Tokyo watching the video, I did indeed feel a great reason for hope. I was also reminded, however, of the difficult situation that people in Japan found themselves in with regard to the situation unfolding literally by the minute. After the disaster, I had been speaking several times a week with a close friend of mine who is an organic farmer along the southernmost peninsula jutting out from the prefecture of Chiba, which lies east of Tokyo and due south of Fukushima. She and her partner began successfully cultivating a large field of beautiful vegetables and a field of rice after both recently moving away from the city to pursue a more natural lifestyle. Although she would have loved to do nothing other than plant her summer crops, as Dennis Banks advised, she was instead facing the real possibility of irradiated water and soil.
She asked me whether I might be able to find her a Geiger counter from someone in the U.S., which would help gauge the level of danger she was working with. In the meantime, she said, she was fortunate because she lived in a tight-knit community of farmers and activists who shared information with each other on a daily basis—the wind currents, the local radiation levels—as everyone tried their best to figure out which moves to make next. I heard the anger underneath the surface of her words, even as she tried as hard as she could to stay positive, to continue holding an image of a healthy harvest. My heart ached for her situation, which was also now being faced by so many others in Japan as well—particularly those in Fukushima— but I joined her in trying to transcend the fear and anger in order to focus upon a positive future.
It was this delicate dance between anger and love—politics and spirituality—that to a large extent defined the climate amongst activists that I witnessed in the weeks following the disaster. Several days after 3.11, one well-respected community leader posted a message on her blog asking people to meditate and send love to the inner children of the nuclear power reactors, who were suffering and needed reassurance. This type of approach was harshly ridiculed by other organizers, who called upon people to instead focus on venting their anger toward electric power company and governmental officials.
I could not help but feel that my own personal truth combined elements from both of these perspectives. My emotions were complex, for example, as I recalled patronizing comments from people in years’ past about my attending one of those “cute little anti-nuclear demonstrations”—but I then felt grateful that the present disaster had indeed served to wake up many people to the immense suffering upon which the system of nuclear power rested. My mental state was similarly complicated as I felt sorry for myself for not being able to open the window and enjoy the combination of fresh breezes and golden sunlight outside as I sat composing this post on a gorgeous afternoon, due to fear of radiation lurking outside—but then I remembered the people remaining within the 20-30 kilometer radius of the Fukushima plant, whom I learned were still confined in their homes with no relief shipment of food or supplies having arrived—one full week after I had spoken with Keiko Ogura, and exactly three weeks after the tragedy struck.
And so it is now other writers to whom I turn for support and inspiration in this time of transition. In a piece titled simply “A Poem for the People in Japan” dated March 16, 2011, Oakland, California-based writer Lena-Nsomeka Gomes tread this fine line between anger and positivity as she faulted human complicity in creating this tragedy, while also offering hope for humanity’s capacity to provide solace and healing. She wote:
The Bones Cracked
Earth stirred and beat
Water sunk the city
Heat caused the leaks
Steam broke the sky—
Will the wind drive
It out to sea?
Oh, please—no drizzle
Don’t let it rain—
This misery!
Can we stop the rain?
Control the wind
Will Mother Earth
Cede her rule
In response to what man did?
Stay inside—stuff blankets
Fill up spaces between planks on the floor
Wait for Man’s direction
Please, Wait some more
Wait to see what engulfs the sea
Wait to see What you will breathe?
Don’t wait for His instructions
Don’t wait for His tears
Run while the wind is soft
Run before It gets inside the water
And stains the rocks
Run into Our arms!
We will hold you
Away from This harm
This poem touched me deeply when I came across it on my second or third day in Hiroshima, amidst all of the uncertainly. I also found immense comfort in this post dated March 19th, titled “Full Moon: Hearts Breaking Open” on a blog called Midnight Apothecary written by healer Dori Midnight, who is herself a survivor of thyroid cancer resulting from emissions at the Rocketdyne nuclear lab near her home in the San Fernando Valley; as well as the virally circulated letter from Sendai resident Anne Thomas several days after the tragedy.
The shift reached Tokyo, as well. On the morning that I left for Hiroshima three days following the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear power accident, while having coffee before boarding the train, I could sense a palpable feeling of change in the air. People seemed more aware of one another; more accommodating; less inclined to judge. In Japanese, the phrase I heard used after the tragedy was yasashikunatta: quitesimply, people became kinder.
Once again, however, beautiful spiritual realities notwithstanding, I realize harsh realities must continue to be deal with. As I finish this piece, several overseas news sources have noted worsening conditions at the Fukushima plant and predicted radiation blowing today across the entire Japanese archipelago. While the majority of the Japanese public appear to be unphased—with children and pregnant women walking outside unmasked—alarmed activists are continuing to pressure the government and media to come clean to the public with the truth.
These same activists are warning, in fact, that we are now literally sitting atop a time bomb in the form of the Hamaoka nuclear plant in Shizuoka prefecture, which sits 200 kilometers away from Tokyo atop the convergence of two tectonic plates that are now overdue for a major quake. They fear that the recent disaster has triggered a period of seismic instability, and that this region could be next—possibly also setting off an eruption of the nearby volcanic Mt. Fuji. They are demanding the plant’s closure—an action with which the present complacent government is not rushing to comply.
“Without pressure from outside countries, it is unlikely that Japanese officials will ever consider closing the plant,” a close friend tells me over lunch at a vegetarian café, where we overhear conversations about the ongoing disaster taking place at nearby tables. “If Hamaoka blows,” he says,“ we are looking at the end of Japan.”
Undoubtedly, these words will be amongst the jumble of information that I will mull over tonight as I use our rapidly dwindling supplies of bottled water to make a pot of miso soup, which I will load with wakame and konbu (seaweed and kelp)—foods that apparently help protect the body against possible radiation poisoning. Regardless of what continues to unfold, and whether my partner and I choose to stay or go, I will focus upon nurturing a feeling of gratitude in my heart for being in Japan at this moment where humanity begins to choose her future.
At the head of the Nagasaki Peace Park, there sits a massive blue figure seated atop a rock in what appears to be a trance-like state, titled simply the “Peace Statue. Its explanation reads as follows:
The elevated right hand points to the threat of nuclear weapons, while the outstretched left hand symbolizes tranquility and world peace. Divine omnipotence and love are embodied in the sturdy physique and gentle countenance of the statue, and a prayer for the repose of the souls of all war victims is expressed in the closed eyes. Furthermore, the folded right leg symbolizes quiet meditation, while the left leg is poised for action in assisting humanity.
Crystal Uchino in Nagasaki Peace Park
With the present tragedy having reminded us so starkly just exactly what is at stake, it will be this duality—action grounded in a still heart—that I will strive to cultivate within my own self. In doing so, I hope to be doing my own miniscule part in helping to ensure that we humans may transcend our past failures and move into a new era of healing, sustainability and unity.
Supermoon on March 21, 2011, taken by my friend Cynthia Yeung (photographer extraordinaire!), in Hong Kong
It has been the longest–no, maybe the shortest–in any case, definitely *the* most bizarre twelve days of my entire life.
Friday, March 11, 2011: The day that my world was completely rocked–literally and figuratively–to an extent that things will never be the same.
2:01 PM. I finished a call on skype with a dream consultant, having felt that the intensity of my recent dreams seemed to be trying to tell me something. This was one of the first times I had spoken with anyone about this, and I felt vague and uncertain as I tried to relay my experiences. Before we hung up the phone, her last words were that whatever message was trying to come through, she sensed it was a powerful one.
After hanging up the phone, I spent the next 30-40 minutes perusing websites on good recipes for breastfeeding mommies, since I had told friends of mine with two-week-old twin baby boys that I was going to cook a meal and bring it over to their place that evening. I finally decided on papaya chicken, mashed sweet potatoes, a salad of dark, leafy greens topped with raw almonds, and lentil beans—apparently, foods that help stimulate the flow of breast milk.The simple act of planning a menu for a new family gave me an incredibly warm and grounded feeling, and I was calm and happy as I gathered my things and started to get ready to go shopping.
2:46 PM. The room started shaking, slowly at first and then gradually stronger. Having lived in Tokyo for the past ten years, earthquakes were nothing new. Since I was on the ground floor of our 80 year-old two-story wooden house, however, I decided to play it safe and head outside.
Almost as soon as I got outdoors, it became clear that something was very, very wrong. In every earthquake I had experienced in this country previously, going outside immediatelymeant you could no longer really feel the shaking. In this case, however, the convulsions only got stronger after I went outside–to an extent I never imagined I would ever experience.
Not even sure where I was going, but certain that I could not stay still, I exited the gate onto the road in front of our house. People had started to spill out of their homes, dogs were barking, children were screaming—and still, the earth continued pitching, dipping and swirling all around us. A woman at a nearby bus stop was crouched on the ground saying “kowai! kowai!” (“This is scary!), and seemed to be nearly in tears.I made my way toward her, and we huddled together, hanging on to each other for the next several terrifying minutes. Yes, this was a stranger, and no, strangers do not huddle together in this city–much less say hello to each other on the street. But then again, feeling as if the earth is about to open up from the inside out is not a scenario that shows up in the guidebook of Tokyo street protocol. We were acting on the level of pure, primal instinct, and in a moment like this, being together with another human being felt immensely comforting.
When the pulsating finally stopped, we thanked each other and went on our way–me back to my garden, where I stayed for the next two hours together with my terrified cat, who was running away in a panic from every leaf blowing in the gradually colder, swifter wind. I was tempted to go back inside to fetch my hat and gloves, to use the toilet, to check for damage…but I was too afraid that aftershocks would come. And come they did: Hundreds of them, all through the rest of the evening, all night long, and into the next day.
For many reasons, I was one of the very lucky ones in this tragedy. Yes, I was dazed and freaked out, but since university was not in session and I was doing my translation work at home, I was in my own comfort zone. As I waited out the first of the aftershocks in the yard, messages began steadily pouring in from around the world on my iPhone through e-mail and Facebook since news of the tragedy had already begun spreading. Many others in Tokyo were not so lucky, however. Most people were stranded, either having to spend the night at their workplace or at one of the many public facilities such as schools and community centers that opened their doors for the night. Or—as in the case of my partner, who left her office at 6PM and arrived home at 11—they joined throngs of others in the streets and walked.
Slowly, more news began filtering in of the unbelievable destruction in Tohoku. Entire communities crushed and swallowed whole. Thousands killed and wounded, still thousands more displaced in the freezing temperatures. Our housemate, who is from Sendai, was unable to reach her parents, and at one point in the evening, a report came in over the radio that between 200 and 300 bodies were found right in the neighborhood where their family business was located. With phone service out, I finally reached her by skype later that evening and then again the next morning. She stayed at her office, unable to sleep at all, and finally reached her parents—who were stunned but safe—the next afternoon.
We were all shocked by what came next: Multiple reactors (and their backup systems) at the Fukushima Daiichi and Daini nuclear power plants failing due to the earthquake and tsunami, with radiation threatening to spew out into the atmosphere and/or leak into the ground water supply unless they could be cooled–and fast. While the perky Japanese media assured us that there was absolutely nothing to worry about unless you were in the immediate vicinity of the plant, reports coming in from overseas painted a picture of a living nightmare, such as physicist Michio Kaku’s blog post from three days after the disaster, which read “We are witnessing a gigantic science experiment, with the Japanese people as guinea pigs”, or this report from Democracy Now! one day later, where nuclear engineer Arnie Gunderson mused that we could be looking at “Chernobyl on steroids.” OMFG doesn’t reallycapture the reaction here.
These two opposite extremes pretty much summed up what was to become the news options for those of us frantically trying to understand what exactly we were dealing with over the several days that followed. For every expert claiming that we *were* looking at very possible worst-scase scenarios (and these did include some Japanese experts and media commentators in addition to the foreign ones), there was a report issued claiming that those of us who were worried were simply succumbing to sensationalism and scare tactics, like this piece, whose author claimed that “the lack of information in Japan, partly due to the vague expressions used by the language, has created a vacuum into which the dark sludge of paranoia from the foreign press has poured.”
My feeling in this situation, which I know was also shared by many of my friends, was that it was up to each and every one of us to do our own research, get educated, and then decide on the best course of action to protect OURSELVES, since nobody else would do it for us. History has shown that governments have assured their citizens that a situation was safe when it turned out to be anything but so—and it was then up to average citizens to do the work of discovering the truth. Two examples among many are Japanese director Hitomi Kamanaka, whose film “Hibakusha: At the End of the World” explores the link between all radiation victims worldwide, including those living downwind of the Hanford nuclear power plant in the United States, among whom she finds numerous cancers and illnesses; or this incredible photolog website of a Ukranian woman who traveled to Chernobyl twenty years after the nuclear disaster there to document what she sees.
And so, at the insisting of my partner and my own instinct for self-preservation—not to mention consideration of the fact that I did not want to stack any further odds against my chances for delivering a healthy baby (since I will be forty this year, and not planning to try for at least another year or two)—I made the decision to accept the invitation to come visit a friend in Hiroshima, (yes, irony noted), where I was an exchange student nearly twenty years prior. And so, with a two-day change of clothes, a heavy heart at leaving my partner behind (she assured me she would join me in a day or two, but couldn’t be sure due to her work responsibilities), and no clue what the immediate future would bring, I became one of the many so-called “genpatsu nanmin”–”nuclear power refugees”–who were fanning westward toward safer climes.
Once again, I realized that my situation was worlds better than most others. Instead of sitting in a freezing gymnasium with little to no food, like the folks in Tohoku—or crowded together with several families, as I know others now are doing still—I was heading to a large apartment in a safe city that was far from the danger. For the blur that was the next several days, my sanctuary became a warm and comfortable internet cafe with free wireless service, computer plug-ins, great music and delicious coffee (with cheap refills!) from morning until night as I sifted madly through all of the different news sources, frantically e-mailing, blogging, Facebooking and Twittering in an attempt to make sense of a nonsensical situation. I tried to do whatever I could to help translate pieces of information for friends lacking one language or another, but I was never sure which information was most reliable, and I was somehow left with the feeling that the more I tried to educate myself, the less I actually knew.
I would then head back to the home of my extremely generous-hearted friend when the cafe closed around 10PM and try to get some sleep. The nights were more like a series of short naps, however, each one punctuated by my bolting awake in a panic to scan my iPhone for any pieces of news that might have come through about the nuclear power plant crisis—news that would encourage my partner to finally come join me in safety, or that I could relay to my countless friends who were facing the agonizing decision of whether to leave the Kanto region themselves. Several days and nights of this was exhausting, and I realize now (with the clarity of hindsight, since the last several days have become calmer) that although my situation was paradise compared to countless others, I was still in a sense of shock and low-grade trauma.
Despite all of the doomsday scenarios afoot, some incredible sources of inspiration were also coming through as well. The messages that others across the world were sending to us—and that we in Japan were sending amongst ourselves as well–were of a single voice: that love and strength would overpower whatever difficulties we were facing. We just had to keep staying positive, sending each other encouragement, checking in with each other daily, sometimes hourly, in order to be sure we were all safe and okay. It truly was this outpouring of support that kept us going through all of the fear and uncertainty. Even in the hard-hit areas, hopeful stories like this extremely uplifting letter from a woman in Sendai were speaking of a collective shift in awareness—and some are saying that the disaster in Japan is evidence of the beginning of the ninth cycle in Mayan cosmology, known as the Cycle of Unity of Consciousness.
This makes a tremendous amount of sense to me at a gut level of feeling, and given my message-laden dreams (which I will not go into here, but suffice it to say that they were powerful indeed)—as well as the fact that I actually felt as if I were undergoing a deeply significant personal shift on March 9th, apparently the first day of the new cycle—I feel an incredible amount of hope with regard to this new world that we now seem to be entering. There is a whole world of resources out there for those interested in taking a radically new approach to living more sustainably—which I will be attempting to synthesize in the coming weeks and months as we continue trying to educate ourselves on very basic issues—such as whether water is safe to drink and food is safe to eat—and as we try shift this tragedy into positive directions that will benefit both ourselves and all living beings, including our Mama Earth. In this regard, this piece from a healer who runs a blog called Midnight Apothecary about how we can transform our fears and grief into compassion and positive action is practically helpful as well as poignant beyond words.
Another prophecy that seems relevant to this whole situation is that of the Hopi, whose tribal leaders were horrified after learning that plutonium and uranium taken forcibly from their land were used to create the atomic bombs that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki—and decided to go public with a prophecy that had been passed down from their elders. The message described how humankind has now come to stand at the crossroads of two possible futures, depending on which actions are taken–either total annihilation or peaceful sustainability. (I learned all of this from the 1986 documentary Hopi no yogen (The Hopi Prophecy) by Japanese director Miyata Kiyoshi, a classic among social activists in Japan that describes the response of Hopi and Navajo tribes in the southwestern United States to the resource colonization of their lands that have been repeatedly plundered for plutonium and uranium, or—in their words—“carving out the earth’s vital organs”). This blog post from the Sacred Land Film Project ties together last week’s earthquake and tsunami disaster with warnings given from the last of the four messengers chosen to interpret the prophecies, Thomas Banyacya,who repeatedly tried to reach decision makers with the prophecy before his death, but had little success.
While many question marks loom ahead, one thing I feel deep in my guts and my bones is this: We MUST begin implementing alternative and sustainable energies NOW, because the present system that puts the lives of so many at risk in both present and future generations–and has the potential to cause so much suffering, as we have seen this week in Fukushima—is simply criminal. I have much to educate myself about in terms of the ins and outs of the nuclear power system—for anyone wanting a primer, I suggest this post from journalist Tim Shorrick (who grew up in Japan and has been a longtime researcher into nuclear industry-related issues), as well as this heartbreaking article from 1980 about the subcontractors who do most of the nuclear dirty work, and the racism inherent in the system. And, for understanding the economics of the whole system, see this 2007 post from Money Week whch offers, in all its disgusting glory, concrete advice on how to profit from the industry.
I could go on and on, but I will stop here and save the rest for subsequent posts. Because I want to end on a positive and hopeful note, I will conclude with this piece about the creative anti-nuclear movement in Japan, since the time for us to start heeding the concerns that they have been vocalizing for decades is clearly now. I attended a demonstration yesterday of committed nuclear activists outside Chugoku Electric Power Company who are trying to permanently stop construction of the Kaminoseki nuclear power plant in the gorgeous Seto Inland Sea, and tomorrow I will be meeting with a hibakusha (survivor of the 1945 atomic bombing; literally “one who has received radiation”) to discuss her work as a peace activist, as well as her views on the new hibakusha from the Fukushima accident.
For those who wish to help with relief efforts, I highly recommend the website ”Japan Volunteers”, which was compiled after the disaster by longtime Tokyo resident and NGO consultant, Sarajean Rossitto, who has many strong connections with Japan-based organizations working in disaster relief.
In closing, I will also say this: One thing we can do help usher in this new world is to simply cultivate the feeling of gratitude in our own hearts (as was also mentioned in the Midnight Apothecary blog post). This is something that anyone can do anywhere and at any time, and which has such an incredibly powerful and immediate effect of creating positive energies. So, in this spirit, I say to everyone who has offered your love and support over the past week and a half: THANK YOU. It has meant more than you know.
I consider myself very, very fortunate—given the economic and social times we are now living in—to have had this incredible opportunity to travel to four countries in four weeks, experiencing so many different sights, sounds and tastes. Although my fundamental belief at heart is that each one of us are individual soul beings—henceforth my distaste for people relating to and judging others in terms of outward categories such as nationality and race—the fact of the matter is that I retain a tremendous privilege because of my passport, which allows me to travel freely to nearly any place in this world.
In addition to the Pagani detention center mentioned in an earlier post, I also saw many immigrants—presumably, some of them also refugees—trying their best to eke out a living in every European city that I visited. In Paris, it was groups of Asian ladies who were dressed for the night in broad daylight, standing in front of the same train station with groups of African men standing nearby. Whether it was all a connected operation I cannot say for sure…one can only wonder. But it seemed clear that in these economic times, people will resort to whatever they have to.
In Barcelona, Athens and Florence it was groups of African men spreading cheap goods on large white sheets that they hawked to tourists—having to remain vigilant at every moment in case the police cars showed up, which they often did, sending the whole operation scattering in a matter of seconds as everyone grabbed their wares and dispersed. While I did not see any cops actually chase the men down, the message was clear: they were unwelcome to continue earning even whatever meager savings they may have been able to scrape together thus far.
One guy I talked to along the neverending stretch of Barcelona beaches had it a bit easier. A black South African, he was among the numerous beach artists who spent the morning building elaborate structures out of sand, and then collecting small donations from passersby. I could kick myself for not having batteries in my iPhone to take photos, because their creations were phenomenal: large animals, replications of famous Gaudi buildings…even this replica of Barack Obama that I just found on the internet (must have been deconstructed before I arrived!). Actually, while the piece art was created by a famous artist who obtained official permission for the project, my new South African friend told me that although they are generally left alone by the cops, they do have to take down the art at the end of every day in order to avoid getting into any trouble…and then begin again the next morning.
Well…I will be wrapping up my nearly ten-year stint in Japan hopefully within the next year or two, and although my partner and I do not know where we will head next, we were extremely tempted by both Paris and Barcelona, which we visited together before branching off in our own directions for the rest of the month. Whether we end up somewhere in the Mediterranean, Brazil (where she is from), Canada, the U.S. (the latter being the least likely due to its sadly backwards stance on gay marriage!), or some combination of the above, I look forward to continuing to make efforts to contribute to social justice while soaking up as many experiences as I possibly can on this amazing earth of ours!
Languid strolls along the Seine and sumptuous cheeses in Paris…swimming au naturel in the warm Mediterranean waters of Barcelona and Lesvos…watching a lingering sunset framed by playful seagulls as my ferry coursed through the Greek islands.
As if all this pleasure was not enough, two events that I was fortunate enough to attend stand out as special highlights of my trip. Both open-air live music concerts, they will stay with me for a long, long time to come because of the unforgettable way that they stimulated my senses on every level.
The first artist was Savina Yannatou, a Greek singer who performed as part of the International Women’s Festival in the village of Skala Eresos on Lesvos island, which I wrote aboutin my last post. I knew nothing about her other than that she was quite famous—so much so that people were coming to Skala Eresos from other cities, and perhaps even other islands, to see her perform.
The show took place in a lovely outdoor cinema located just next to the adorable little pension where I was renting a room. Although the weather had been oppressively hot for the entire week of my stay, on the day of the concert it suddenly turned extremely cold. Many concert-goers, then—including myself—violated the dressy protocol of the evening by shamelessly wrapping ourselves in blankets that we had dragged from our rooms to block the freezing wind.
Once Savina came onstage and began performing, however, I personally forgot about the cold (well, almost!)…that’s how powerful her stage presence was. Her incredibly wide vocal range was apparent from the very first song, which included clicking and whirring sounds that I would actually describe as more birdlike than human. (Sort of reminded me of violinist and vocalist Aska Kaneko, who I am a huge follower of in Tokyo). The songs came from a number of countries across the Mediterranean and beyond, and with each one Yannatou seemed to demonstrate a new and more amazing vocal technique. At one point, I heard someone sitting nearby whisper that and both she and her outstanding piano accompanyist, Evgenia Karlayti, were actually improvising! WOW.
I don’t want to sound like I am mystifying or exoticizing this experience, but sitting outside in the open-air theater, with the winds blowing and Yanatou singing song after lovely song in her ethereal sounding voice, I felt like there was nowhere else in the world I would have rather been in that moment. Totally incredible. (I also picked up a CD of her performing live, so I get to continue to enjoy her work! )
The second event took place last night in Firenze (Florence), Italy—the last evening of the season for the 2009 Florence Chamber Music Festival. The concert was held in an open plaza inside the Museo Nazionale del Bargello, and featured the works by two composers—both for some reason Hungarian Jewish men named Gyorgy (Ligeti and Kurtag, to be precise)…thanks, Wikipedia! I had been hoping to attend an event like this while in Europe—chamber music in a historical setting—and the evening in fact could not have been more perfect.
I had spent the day touring some of Florence’s most famous museums, and found myself trying to come to terms with the fact that I actually would have preferred wandering aimlessly around the city and discovering my own adventures rather than spending excessive sums of money to end up standing in endless queues with seemingly every other tourist in the city. Understandable, perhaps…but I still felt like I should have been making more of an effort to appreciate and be inspired by these hugely famous Renaissance art treasures.
Coming to this concert, however, allowed me to finally appreciate the grandeur of this city in my own way. (Not surprising, I guess, as I always have been more of a musically inclined person than a visual art fan!) The works of these composers—one of whose immediate family were nearly all killed in the Holocaust–were intensely eerie and haunting. Listening to these outstanding musicians (vocalists, pianists, violinists, and a contrabassist) perform piece after amazing piece, with stars twinkling above me and 400 or 500 year-old marble statues peering down at me from all four sides, I was finally able to experience that feeling of being intensely moved that I imagine art lovers must have when visiting their favorite museums.
I also learned that the Bargello used to be a prison. Given this history, as well as the sad history on Lesvos island of the horrific population exchange with Turkey back in the 1920′s, I like to think that the energies stirred up from both of these amazing performances were able to somehow travel back through time to generate some sort of healing.
In any case, they were both amazing experiences for me personally, for which I am extremely thankful.
So…here I am, in paradise on earth: the village of Skala Eresos on Lesvos Island, Greece. Birthplace of Sappho, the lyrical poet who lived around the year 600 BC and whose works were so lovely that the Greek philosopher Plato later referred to her as the Tenth Muse. And because many of her poems focused on women as the subjects of her love and gaze, the term Lesbian (which already refers to all residents of the island here–even the men! ) became to hold the popular meaning it does today.
For the past week or so, my daily routine has gone something like this: Wake up around 9 or 10 and head out for breakfast at one of the countless cafes overlooking the beach—each one seemingly more gorgeous than the next. Next on the agenda: a few hours of the freelance translation work that I brought along with me, and then around 1 or 2 PM, head to the beach for some sunning and swimming (au naturel!) in the crystal clear waters while making friends with women from all around the world. At 5 or 6PM, head back to the sweet little room I am renting for a shower and to do my daily clothes washing. Back out to the cafe for another round of work and dinner, and sometimes out to dance or drink with the ladies. I could definitely get used to this lifestyle!! In fact, many women do just that…end up settling down here permanently amongst the locals, running some sort of small business in the village.
That’s what’s so wonderful about Skala Eresos: everyone seems to coexist together so peacefully. Most lesbian festivals or retreats I have been to are completely separated from society at large, but this is one is smack in the middle of a functioning tourist town, interspersed amongst heterosexual couples and little kids and grannies and grandpas. And nobody seems to mind. In fact, at the opening gala a couple of nights ago for the artistic and cultural International Women’s Festival—a fantastic beach party featuring dancers and musicians and theatrical acts onstage—said older folks and little kids sat front and center to catch the action, never mind the occasional female couple kissing around them. And when my friend first brought me to the guest house where I am staying, the friendly older man who runs it inquired whether she and I were a couple. Yes, granted, the village probably loves us for our gay tourist dollars (the “pink pound”, as they call it in Britain!), but if the result is mutual understanding and friendliness, then who really cares!
As the totally awesome DJ Promiss rocked it until well after 2 in the morning at the opening party, on the fantastical beach stage with the waning full moon as a backdrop, I could just feel positive energies being stirred up all around. It sort of reminded me of the good vibes of DJ Gerry and DJ Chiaki at Spring Love (I wonder how many times can I plug that event in my own blog?! ).
Truthfully, I had been trying to fight off feelings of dread for the past couple of days, after not hearing anything for three days from my girlfriend, who is spending the month walking along the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain. I have been trying to reprogram myself to move away from the Jewish worry gene (“Oh my gawd, she must be dead”) to something more constructive. So, as I sat there drinking in the loveliness of the evening yesterday, I began to create a mantra for myself: send her what she needs—not your worries, but love, strength and energy. And sure enough…midway through the evening I received a text message from her, and aside from her aching muscles, she was fine. The mantra also worked yesterday afternoon as I was swimming out to a rock in the ocean, which I then climbed to the top of along with a couple of friendly women I encountered along the way. No more “too dangerous…better not try it,” thanks. Love, strength, and good energy all the way!
I also found myself trying to stir up energies of love and compassion for the folks sitting on the other side of Lesvos Island at the Pagani Detention Center for refugees. Being very close to Turkey, Lesvos Island is a first point of entry for many people hoping to enter the European community–some of them refugees from Iraq and Afghanistan. They usually arrive in very poor quality boats, and are intimated by the Greek coast guard authorities to turn back into Turkish waters–the choppy waves from these tactics sometimes knocking the boats over and causing the refugees’ deaths. Those that do make it to land and are discovered by the authorities are sent to Pagani, which is unsanitary and overcrowded—UNHCR found 990 people on a recent visit when it is meant for only 280. They are being held in inhumane conditions, and some are now on a hunger and thirst strike.
A very good friend of mine, an Iraqi journalist and human rights activist whom I met in Japan and whom I e-mail with regularly, told me he dreams of the day he can come visit Europe and swim in the sea and laugh and enjoy life like any human being should be able to do. Because he holds an Iraqi passport, however, in this unfair world as it is presently systematically organized, he may not. As I head off now for my afternoon swim and to enjoy myself during the rest of my stay here, I will be continuing to send out vibes of love, respect and good energy for him and for every single person who is not able to enjoy these simple freedoms.
Although I have lived in Tokyo for eight years now, I had not yet attended a single Earth Day until this weekend!! It seemed I always had some work deadline or other conflict going on. This time as well, my girlfriend and I were vascillating about whether or not to attend…but in the end decided to stop by. And am I glad that we did!!
I had kind of expected things to be like the One Love Jamaica festival I attended last year, which–while indeed fun–was more an exercise in wading through masses of people than anything else. Earth Day, au contraire, had a totally cool, relaxed, and chilled-out vibe that was much like that at Spring Love. We had a great time just browsing around the stalls and taking in the atmosphere…my girlfriend picked up some of those cool hand-held instruments where you knock two balls back and forth that are tied to the end of a string (neither of us could remember the name of the instrument…yikes!) and I got some fresh herbs and vegetable seeds for the garden. Can’t wait for the rest of spring!!
It has been a busy spring indeed…the biggest thing on my list being Spring Love, a big peace and music event that I helped organize through my involvement with Peace Not War Japan. The event ended up being wildly successful beyond our greatest expectations…and a hell of a lot of fun given the amazing music, perfect weather, and all around good vibes. Our report on the event is here.
Another fabulous thing about spring in Japan is the famous blooming of the cherry blossoms (sakura). During the first few days or so of April, the cherry trees all look like they are covered with yummy lumps of fresh pink cotton candy for about a week before they all ephemerally blow away (usually in a gorgeus windy flurry) as the new baby green leaves push their way through. Taking advantage of this show of natural beauty, everyone in Japan heads outside for “ohanami”, which literally translates into “flower viewing”, but is really just a good excuse to party.
In addition to all of the drunken revelery of the week, everyone just seems to be extra laid back and happy during sakura time. I also love all of the related lingo, with terms I only learned recently such as 五部桜 (gobuzakura, or 50% sakura, meaning that the blossoms are half-opened…there are also similar terms, I am told, for when they are 20%, 30%, 80% and 90% full… gotta love the precision there! ) and other flowerspeak such as 花冷え (hanabie, or “flower chill”, indicating a cold day while the sakura blossoms are out…love it!!), 桜の吹雪 (sakura no fubuki, or a “rain”storm of fluttering sakura petals)…it just goes on.
Here are some photos of this magical time…actually they’re from last year, but who would know! They were just as gorgeous this year too.
Along the gorgeous riverbank of Naka-Meguro, one of my favorite Tokyo neighborhoods
Has anyone ever had the experience of reading a book that’s just so mind-blowing that once you’ve gotten to the last page, you immediately flip to the beginning and begin reading it again? I had never done this before until yesterday, on my transpacific flight from Tokyo to San Francisco, with this gem: 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl by Daniel Pinchbeck. DAMN, can this guy can write!! He took an incredibly massive amount of material (both literary and based on personal experience) relating to the various prophecies that foresee some kind of monumental shift in consciousness peaking in December 2012…and he did it both beautifully and convincingly. I feel like this is about six books in one, and have begun reading it again in order to break down and digest each idea slowly and deeply.
This is not light fare…toward the end of the book, we learn that Pinchbeck, while under the influence of the phsycadelic conconction ayahuasca in the Brazilian rainforest, believes that he is channeling the ancient spirit of the Toltec (pre-Aztec) deity Quetzalcoatl in order to bring a vital message to humanity that we need to clean up our act…or else. For those with open minds and a hunger to know more about where we need to be headed spiritually as human beings, this book will resonate on many, many levels. Read it, people!! Pinchbeck also wrote another book called Breaking Open the Head: A Psychadelic Journey into the Heart of Contemporary Shamanism that also looks amazing and is presently on my bookshelf waiting to be read…and he is the editor of a very cutting-edge blog called Reality Sandwich.I just ordered a copy of the first RS anthology called Toward 2012: Perspectives on the Next Age that looks fabulous as well…lots of yummy reading ahead!
Whilst turning around all of these mind-expanding possibilities around in my head, however, it was unfortunate that I felt completely ensconsed in an atmosphere of total pro-militarism for practically the entire duration of the flight. Why, for the love of goddess, is it that for practically every flight I have taken to the U.S. in recent memory, I am surrounded by soldiers? Is United Airlines the official airline of the U.S. military or something? And why am I always seated right in their midst? Of course, as distinguishing between ideologies/systems and individuals is an extremely sensitive topic with me, I am not holding anything against soldiers personally as human beings (and I have actually had some rather nice, interesting conversations with some of them). But it is the whole atmosphere surrounding militarism…the whole rendering of it as the normal way of being and living…that I found oppressive and frankly quite frightening. For example, the conversation I had with the guy next to me went something like this:
Military guy (MG): I’m goin’ to live with my family in Arizona.
Me: Oh really? I’m originally from Arizona.
MG: Oh. What were you doing in Tokyo?
Me: I live there.
MG: What? You just said you’re from Arizona. If you’re from Arizona, you can’t *live* in Tokyo. Like, I was in Okinawa for 2 years in the military, but I would never say that I *live* there. There is no way that you *live* in Tokyo. You *live* in Arizona!
Me (who has lived in Tokyo for the past 8 years): Speechless.
Granted, this guy was clearly not the brightest light on the tree, but still…after 2 years living overseas, he could not get the concept that I actually *did not live in the United States*?! To me, that was indicative of the whole system–the ignorant privileging of the U.S. as the obvious, unquestioned center of the world. And especially since I have seen with my own eyes the damage that the imperialist U.S. military has inflicted upon innocent people around the world, the upholding of the military as some of kind of amazing institution to be revered truly saddens me. Evidence of this was all over: military people were exempted from the “no cart in line” rule at ticket counters, have special lounges at the airport, and received free alcohol on the flight, for example. Yes, I realize that they have had a shitty time of it in Iraq and Afghanistan (where MG was stationed for part of his duty) and elsewhere, and since again, I blame the *system* and not the individuals who are just as exploited by it, I can see how extra perks would seem to be legitimate from this perspective. However, it frustrates and demoralizes me to see the system glorified in so doing.
When I was trying to get my luggage down from the overhead bins, there were a couple of other military-looking guys who were blocking my way, and so I asked them whether they would move a bit so that I could get to my things. I asked them politely, twice, but they just looked askance at me and completely ignored me. I literally had to shove them aside in order to reach the bins…it was truly an uncomfortable moment. I had been one of the last people to board the flight as I had a couple of phone calls to make at the gate…maybe they were doing the equivalent of hazing in order to punish me for my transgression? Have no idea, but in any case, I felt like they were enjoying my discomfort while making no move to be helpful or kind, and I felt a vague sense of sadness and hopelessness for a long time after leaving the flight.
In order to cheer myself up and remind myself of some of positive energy I felt after reading 2012, which offers spirituality as an alternative to the soul-destroying tendencies at the heart of the militarist ideology, I am going to end this (long and overly rambling?) post with the following gem that a friend of mine, Dance for Peace founder and fellow spiritual seeker Gerry Ong, posted recently. It’s titled the Mayan Insight:
To Be Ready for this Moment in History
Many Mayan elders and knowledge keepers may be eliminated in the next few years. For the first half of the current Katun (20-year period) the dark side has a lot of power. But that will pass 3 to 4 years from now. The tide can turn. Amazing things are going to happen.
This is a crucially important moment for humanity, and for earth. Each person is important. If you have incarnated into this era, you have spiritual work to do balancing the planet.
The elders have opened the doors so that other races can come to the Mayan world to receive the tradition. The Maya have long appreciated and respected that there are other colors, other races, and other spiritual systems. “They know,” he said, “that the destiny of the Mayan world is related to the destiny of the whole world.”
“The greatest wisdom is in simplicity”. Love, respect, tolerance, sharing, gratitude, forgiveness. It’s not complex or elaborate. The real knowledge is free. It’s encoded in your DNA. All you need is within you. Great teachers have said that from the beginning. Find your heart, and you will find your way.”
Last Sunday afternoon, I headed down to Hakone for an afternoon of onsen therapy with a couple of friends, one of whom has an adorable three year-old son. And was it ever amazing!! We started the afternoon off driving up a winding mountain road until we got to a cute little train station called Gora, which had lots of greenery, many winding streets lined with little artsy shops, and–at last: an onsen that we had *completely* to ourselves!!
For me, onsen are *definitely* one of the top pleasures of living in Japan. I have visited onsen in every conceivable kind of weather–from a rotemburo (outdoor onsen) with snow lightly dusting my shoulders during winter in Iwate (northern Honshu island) to swimming naked with friends back in my young and rowdy days during summer in the onsen resort area of Kinugawa (Tochigi prefecture) .
Wikipedia writes:
An onsen(温泉,onsen?) is a term for hot springs in the Japanese language, though the term is often used describe the bathing facilities and inns around the hot springs. A volcanically active country, Japan has thousands of onsen scattered along its length and breadth. Onsen were traditionally used as public bathing places and today play a central role in directing Japanese domestic tourism.
Japanese often talk of the virtues of “naked communion” (裸の付き合い,hadaka no tsukiai?)[1] for breaking down barriers and getting to know people in the relaxed homey atmosphere of an onsen inn.
I like this last part, because it conveys the lack of morality-tinged weirdness around being naked in front of other folks (at least within the space of the onsen) that is found within Japanese culture. It is simply about the natural, cozy pleasures of spending a good time with friends while soaking and scrubbing, with the relaxing aromas of steam and soap wafting through the air. It’s sort of hard to describe unless you’ve actually had the experience yourself, but it’s definitely amazing!
Anyway, we had almost given up hope of finding an onsen because by the time we got around to going to one, most inns were already closed with the exception of their paying overnight customers. We did finally find one that let us come, though, and not only was it fabulous; we also ended up being the only ones there!! The particular onsen that we found had the aroma (er, odor?) or sulfur wafting all around the building, so we knew it was authentic!
Although we had been hoping to find something with a rotenburo, this one was perfect in every other way: a nice interior with soft, soothing tones of gray and brown, a large pool that my friend’s son Leeroy had a great time sending the wooden washing bowls cruising around in as if they were fish; a wonderfully hot sauna with a cold pool for soaking in afterward whose temperature was actually hospitable to the human body (usually they are so freezing cold that it is impossible to enter them unless you have special meditative self-control powers ), and an array of luscious body products such as shampoos and soaps made from sumi (liquid charcoal), collagen, and bayu (horse fat). Sounds bizarre, but their restorative powers are supposed to be superb. And that was exactly what our afternoon/evening turned out to be!
) and jammed right in the midst of the dancing crowd…totally amazing energy. I would say this was easily the best live show I’ve been to in my life! It was put on by an organization known as SESC whereby students and employees pay a monthly fee and get access to a variety of cultural programs for a very low price. Nice!
that apparently happens every Sunday. The market was spread out for blocks and blocks, with lots of crafts, plants, clothes, food, and yes, music! After wandering leisurely around the stalls for awhile, we made our way to a restaurant with outside tables to indulge in some yummy food and beer while enjoying the chilled-out atmosphere. This little live music session was happening right near our table, so of course as soon as I heard this fantastic song, I had to run over and film (!). Great stuff…and I love how the dude at the bottom left of the screen seems to be getting into it as well!
His talk was absolutely fantastic…while I unfortunately can’t find it on You Tube, here he is via TED.com speaking on similar issues:
Has anyone ever had the experience of reading a book that’s just so mind-blowing that once you’ve gotten to the last page, you immediately flip to the beginning and begin reading it again? I had never done this before until yesterday, on my transpacific flight from Tokyo to San Francisco, with this gem: 
