i have spent a lot of my sightseeing time in Japan hopping around temples and shrines trying to decipher both why I find them so beautiful and some of the aspects of these religions that still seem so foreign to me. As a disclaimer, I am not particularly religious in any way though I do think there are many things in this world that science cannot explain and I am not willing to step on other people's beliefs to disprove that. That being said, I usually try to pray to whatever god is worshiped at the shrine I am visiting. Not in the 'please give me this' way, but in the 'I'm sorry to intrude on your space and am opening myself to anything you are willing to say or not say.' So far I have not received any responses, though I am not really looking for them, but I continue to go regardless because if nothing else, places people designate as holy always seem to have a certain peace about them.
About 2 weeks ago, my friend who works at the gym introduced me to a girl from Nepal who is visiting an Aunt in my area. She does not speak any Japanese, though she speak perfect English, so she does not have any friends outside her family since she can't communicate. But we communicate fine and have become fast friends, though sometimes she can be a bit overwhelming (I think mostly because she is lonely), and since I finished my test she has been intent on keeping herself attached to me. On that note, yesterday my beach plans got cancelled because a big storm rolled through and it rained the whole day and so I went with her and her mom and aunt to a temple. It is one of the more famous temples in the area, not because the building itself is particularly beautiful (of course I didn't see the main building but I will get into that later) but because there are ancient, giant stone Buddhas carved into the stone. They were carved around the 8th century by monks seeking enlightenment and were made without any tools besides other rocks. They are not very pretty likenesses and there are just the two of them, but I found them very moving.
To access the Buddhas, you have to climb up the side of a mountain. With the pelting rain it made the trek a little more dangerous and as we climbed we quickly approached a path that changed from the typical bamboo lined steps in the dirt to what looked like a landslide of rock. My friend P explained that this path was created by a demon in the guise of an ogre who, in an attempt to spare his own life, constructed the entire path in one night at the request of a god. The ogre was still killed, in one of those sly ways the Japanese gods seem to kill people who abuse their power, but the Japanese people in the area since that day have left the path unchanged as a testament to the strength of their gods. I was more afraid of slipping and falling that anything else and when I looked closely at the very wet and uneven rock face and then down at my flip flops I thought, 'oh crap.' P saw my hesitation and explained that the gods would not allow us to slip so she almost literally starting skipping up the rocks, also in flip flops. I called back that it would be possible the gods would be displeased with me since I don't really believe in them and perhaps would not extend the same protection to me but she responded by saying merely that since I have a good, open heart I would be fine. not willing to take my chances I crawled slowly up the rock face until we got about halfway up and they veered off the path to go see the stone Buddhas.
Standing well over 10 feet tall, the bust of Buddha in two different phases of his life looks down on those beneath him not in a condescending way, but one of contemplation. One of the figures though, looked angry. I asked my friend P why and she said while Buddha was praying one day some people came over and started harassing him, he found them entertaining and thus the look on his face is one of distant amusement rather than anger. Not quite content with her explanation, I sat and stared at him a while longer. As the rain pelted us from above in the alcove of trees and rock, she came over to me again and told me a story about a man who came to the area a few years ago. The man, upon seeing the face of Buddha turned away in disgust saying "I traveled all the way from Osaka to see this and it is just two old rock figures, nothing special." On his way down the rocky slope he supposedly lost his footing and fell. P was convinced this was divine retribution for defacing the name of Buddha and his followers, and while I was not so convinced, it made me tread even more carefully down the stone path.
On the way back I asked P why we didn't go all the way to the top of the route and she said it was because the building for the main temple was closed. What I discovered later was that the building was closed to her and her mother because their (grand)mother has passed away less than a year ago and they were not allowed to enter the building until a year had passed. I suppose next I will enter the building, assuming I can gather the courage to face the landslide slope again.
Once we got back to their house, P's aunt was explaining to me about the life of the monk who worked at this particular temple and the values they have to possess to be a good monk. This particular one is married to a Korean woman who is always complaining that he does not make enough money at his job. The monk replies, like a good monk should she explained, that being a monk is not a job, it is a lifestyle and making enough to merely live is all that is required of his profession and his own fulfillment.
Between going to the temple and the stories I heard yesterday, a lot of questions have been answered for me in terms of how some people view these religions and yet, a lot more have arisen in my mind. I did not enroll in the Shinto or Buddhism classes offered at UF while I was student and I do not regret that decision because I think some of the patience and openness I purportedly possess now was not present during that part of my life. I will of course continue to visit shrines and temples and try to open myself to the possibilities, but I will also maintain a comfortable respect whenever I visit these holy places. If even Japanese people can fear their own gods, surely I should not question them in their own home.
Usually I try to summarize why I thought this was worth writing about at the end of each entry, but this time, I will let you decide. I just wanted to get those thoughts out there. Also, I will try to attach a slideshow of some of the shrines I have been to visit within the week.
Love.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Just a moment, please?
So I was sitting in Osaka airport, taking up space at a starbucks after I fed the corporate beast 500 yen for a soy chai latte, and thinking. After months of spending all my mental energy on remembering scientific concepts I learned as a college freshman just thinking seemed a nice respite. Unfortunately, it seems after such mental expenditure, I don’t know how to just let my mind wander anymore.
To that end, as I sit here trying to get the rest of this drink down (I never drink coffee because it makes me super hyper and chai sugar filled lattes aren’t much better - plus starbucks always seems to give me a stomach ache) I was pondering adult life and how much things have changed in the last few months. It could be the contrast between teaching such young kids and working with mostly significantly older people that puts me in this grey area - but I am constantly finding myself weighing how the decisions I make and the things I do are so different than they would have been years, or months, before.
I used to wonder when exactly you became a grown-up. I guess I, like most kids, just thought you woke up old one day. Not necessarily old in the sense of age, but just... old. Of course as you age, you come to realize you don’t just turn old, you grow older.
While walking down the streets of Umeda this morning I tried to imagine what my seven-year-old self would think of me. If she is anything like my students perhaps she would find me fun, cute, a little loony and strangely enough, young. But I don’t feel youth the way my seven-year-old self did. Because that Nichole got bored waiting in starbucks at an airport, or window shopping in crowded Osaka malls. She didn’t have to remind herself how beautiful a walk through the park could be, or how much fun swimming in an ocean could be - because she just knew. She knew being outside was the best thing in the world and watermelon and a hose on a hot summer day was heaven. Now I find myself getting so caught up in life that I could the calories on my summer ice cream cones and swim in heated pools in the middle of the night to burn off those calories and avoid the sun.
Would she be ashamed? Would she think I was silly? Or would she say - ‘Nichole you’re a grown-up’. I certainly feel like a grown up sometimes - at least until I talk to my colleagues with families and ‘real’ lives. So could we say being a grown up is just being grown a few years longer? Is it even really about years? Sometimes I feel an awful lot more grown than some of my peers - hell even of some people my senior. I certainly look at college students now and think of how young they are sometimes. It is in those times that I wonder if perhaps I traded lack of responsibility for freedom, and if I can go back temporarily and entertain the other choice.
When I went home to America 2 months ago to visit my mom who was recovering from surgery but hadn’t begun treatment yet (just setting the stage so you don’t think I am crazy selfish for what comes next) and I found myself battling the urge to curl up on her lap and just bawl. Not necessarily because she was sick, for those tears had to be shed in private where she couldn’t see, but for the loss of my own ability to fulfill that very urge. For the loss of my own innocence. For the ability to leave her house without her asking me where I was going, who with and when I could be home. In some twisted way, I wanted her to ask me. I wanted her to take some of that freedom away from me. Wished she would say “be home by 12” instead of “see you in the morning, good night.” I never did curl up in her lap for fear she might mistake those tears for my own loss as tears of misplaced faith in her ability to battle the demons raging within her.
Someday I will have children of my own, likely not too far in the future, and is the day when my own child curls up in my lap the sign I have become an adult? Or was it when I graduated from college? When I stopped using my mom as an alarm clock? When I could cook my own breakfast? Or were these all just little steps in the long process of growing - one I sometimes wish I could turn around. Because after all, there is only so much ‘up’ growing we can do before we have to start growing back down again.
I guess the point of this whole philosophical wandering is more than pining over the loss of my childhood, it is a memo to try and slow down the ticking of the clock so I don’t look back on a disappointed 22-year-old Nichole and wish I had ‘grown-up’ different. I hope to never forget to remind myself how beautiful the stars are at night, to never forget to look out the plane window at the clouds, to never fight the urge to swim in the ocean. I don’t ever want to feel too “grown-up” to enjoy my life, to be silly, or to make mistakes.
So with one foot in the door on the path to a hopeful career as a doctor and half my body out the door on my Japan adventure, I left reminding myself to live each moment 100%. To embrace the patience I seem to have developed and rather than wonder ‘am I there yet?’ think instead ‘that cloud kind of looks like a turtle.’
I have a lot of blog entries to post and a lot of experiences to record, but I wanted to take a moment to remind myself - and maybe remind you - that while all those experiences are unforgettable, I have to promise myself to try and make every day if not unforgettable, at the least, unregrettable.
Love.
To that end, as I sit here trying to get the rest of this drink down (I never drink coffee because it makes me super hyper and chai sugar filled lattes aren’t much better - plus starbucks always seems to give me a stomach ache) I was pondering adult life and how much things have changed in the last few months. It could be the contrast between teaching such young kids and working with mostly significantly older people that puts me in this grey area - but I am constantly finding myself weighing how the decisions I make and the things I do are so different than they would have been years, or months, before.
I used to wonder when exactly you became a grown-up. I guess I, like most kids, just thought you woke up old one day. Not necessarily old in the sense of age, but just... old. Of course as you age, you come to realize you don’t just turn old, you grow older.
While walking down the streets of Umeda this morning I tried to imagine what my seven-year-old self would think of me. If she is anything like my students perhaps she would find me fun, cute, a little loony and strangely enough, young. But I don’t feel youth the way my seven-year-old self did. Because that Nichole got bored waiting in starbucks at an airport, or window shopping in crowded Osaka malls. She didn’t have to remind herself how beautiful a walk through the park could be, or how much fun swimming in an ocean could be - because she just knew. She knew being outside was the best thing in the world and watermelon and a hose on a hot summer day was heaven. Now I find myself getting so caught up in life that I could the calories on my summer ice cream cones and swim in heated pools in the middle of the night to burn off those calories and avoid the sun.
Would she be ashamed? Would she think I was silly? Or would she say - ‘Nichole you’re a grown-up’. I certainly feel like a grown up sometimes - at least until I talk to my colleagues with families and ‘real’ lives. So could we say being a grown up is just being grown a few years longer? Is it even really about years? Sometimes I feel an awful lot more grown than some of my peers - hell even of some people my senior. I certainly look at college students now and think of how young they are sometimes. It is in those times that I wonder if perhaps I traded lack of responsibility for freedom, and if I can go back temporarily and entertain the other choice.
When I went home to America 2 months ago to visit my mom who was recovering from surgery but hadn’t begun treatment yet (just setting the stage so you don’t think I am crazy selfish for what comes next) and I found myself battling the urge to curl up on her lap and just bawl. Not necessarily because she was sick, for those tears had to be shed in private where she couldn’t see, but for the loss of my own ability to fulfill that very urge. For the loss of my own innocence. For the ability to leave her house without her asking me where I was going, who with and when I could be home. In some twisted way, I wanted her to ask me. I wanted her to take some of that freedom away from me. Wished she would say “be home by 12” instead of “see you in the morning, good night.” I never did curl up in her lap for fear she might mistake those tears for my own loss as tears of misplaced faith in her ability to battle the demons raging within her.
Someday I will have children of my own, likely not too far in the future, and is the day when my own child curls up in my lap the sign I have become an adult? Or was it when I graduated from college? When I stopped using my mom as an alarm clock? When I could cook my own breakfast? Or were these all just little steps in the long process of growing - one I sometimes wish I could turn around. Because after all, there is only so much ‘up’ growing we can do before we have to start growing back down again.
I guess the point of this whole philosophical wandering is more than pining over the loss of my childhood, it is a memo to try and slow down the ticking of the clock so I don’t look back on a disappointed 22-year-old Nichole and wish I had ‘grown-up’ different. I hope to never forget to remind myself how beautiful the stars are at night, to never forget to look out the plane window at the clouds, to never fight the urge to swim in the ocean. I don’t ever want to feel too “grown-up” to enjoy my life, to be silly, or to make mistakes.
So with one foot in the door on the path to a hopeful career as a doctor and half my body out the door on my Japan adventure, I left reminding myself to live each moment 100%. To embrace the patience I seem to have developed and rather than wonder ‘am I there yet?’ think instead ‘that cloud kind of looks like a turtle.’
I have a lot of blog entries to post and a lot of experiences to record, but I wanted to take a moment to remind myself - and maybe remind you - that while all those experiences are unforgettable, I have to promise myself to try and make every day if not unforgettable, at the least, unregrettable.
Love.
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