FRAGMENT #1: 6/10/05

While in Japan, I wrote more than I posted--and I posted a lot--but here are some of the fragments that didn't make the cut.

Barry told me that they hide their handicapped here. And, for the most part, I have found it to be true. There is a young boy with Down’s Syndrome whose mother walks him to school in Higashi-Mukojima, my neighborhood. But other than that, I haven’t seen a single person in Japan with a condition we would consider handicapped. Actually, let me correct myself: Until yesterday, I hadn’t seen a single person with a handicap in Japan.

Yesterday (6/9), I went out to the Ground Cherry Festival. The place was jammed with people. And when I say it was jammed, I mean it was subway in Shinjuku jammed. The old ladies here generally just clear the underside of my boobs, and so several times I looked down to find that I was offering shade to more than one tiny old woman. As I was walking along--or rather, being forced along with the crowd--I saw an oasis: A clear space! I headed for it. When I got there, I saw that it was filled with perhaps a half-dozen people in wheelchairs. Some of them were severely handicapped, mentally and physically.

And that wasn’t the end of it:

On the train home, the car was standing room only. I saw a young, short blonde man making his way toward me. Foreigners are rare in these parts, so I took a closer look. It wasn’t a Westerner, but a Japanese; not a blonde but an albino. He came and stood next to me.

And that wasn’t the end of it either:

On the walk home from the train station, I saw a woman whose legs were bowed out as though she had rickets. I saw another woman with a huge cast on one leg. She wasn’t using crutches and so walked like an insect that someone’d crushed but not killed.

And that wasn’t the end of it either.

I happened to be on the way home from the Sesoji Temple in Asakusa. At the temple, there is an enormous incense burner. For 100 or 200 yen, you can buy a small bundle of incense, perhaps 20 or so sticks bundled together with a strip of paper. You take the incense and light it at one of two small burners near the stand, then walk over with your lit incense to the larger burner and toss in your smoldering bundle. There is room around the larger burner for people to stand and rub smoke on themselves. The smoke is supposed to cure any ills, and people grab handfuls of smoke and rub it all over, into their hair, over their throats and face, all over their bodies.

I bought a 100 yen bunch of incense, lit and carried it over to the big burner. I tossed it in, and then began to rub smoke on myself.

I concentrated on my heart, asking for it to be healed.

As I did it, I thought: That’s part of the reason why I’m here. That is part of the reason why the Demon Sadness has been rearing its sad and ugly head in places like the iris garden at the Meiji shrine. It’s my heart that’s broken and needs mending.

We are all broken, Hemingway wrote.

Turning from the incense burner, I walked into the temple, prayed, and spent another 100 on my fortune.

I almost with I hadn’t.

The English translation of my fortune was very clear. In large, thick letters, I was informed that I had Bad Fortune. It went on to inform me that I would not be getting what I wanted, not in terms of travel or marriage or friendship or anything. Basically, according to this fortune, I could just pack it in hope-wise. I was going to get nothing that I was asking for at this time.

The day, which had promised to be a good one, turned dark.

With a heavy heart, I folded the fortune and tied it, along with hundreds of others, to one of the racks nearby. I left the temple.

Because the Ground Cherry Festival was in full swing, there were several booths set up. About sixty booths were selling ground cherry plants. After visiting the Meiji iris gardens, I had thought several times about buying a plant. In the US, I had avoided plants for years, not wanting to have to take care of anything besides myself, not wanting the responsibility for any living thing besides myself. But here I was, considering a plant. But I didn’t want a ground cherry plant. I didn’t want one because I wasn’t sure of the significance of the plants. I didn’t know anything about them, why they were being celebrated, why the entire festival grounds were turned into these hanging gardens complete with ground cherry salesmen and women who yelled out “Irrashaimase!!!” to all passers, encouraging them to buy.

I smiled at several but passed up their wares. Instead, I wandered around and looked at the other booths, the ones selling baby turtles and goldfish and other living things. Food stalls, too, had been set up. They leaned heavily toward the takoyaki (octopus encased in a batter ball) and okonomiyaki (big pancakes made with cabbage and other vegetables in batter). These, too, I passed up. I continued to wander, finally reaching the area behind the temple. Several vendors had set up their booths there and were selling plants other than ground cherries. I looked at the most amazing displays of bonsai, hundreds of them, little forrests on shallow plates. I thought to buy one, but know that bonsai require the almost the kind of stewardship that real forrests require, and I know myself well enough to know that I don’t have that kind of discipline.

Instead, I went over to where house and yard plants were being offered. I looked at several booths, and in one of the largest booths saw what I was looking for. There were several varieties of variegated houseplants, in

But some of us are mended and where we are mended, we are stronger in the broken parts.