Climbing Mountains for no reason
Why do I always have a stereotype of the Japanese people as such passionless people? Not that they don't have emotions. It is just so much of what they do is subdued, quiet and reflective. Reverent even. What isn't influenced by the West in their culture is so unobtrusive and can be easily missed- ikebana, nihonbuya, ukioe, koto, the tea ceremony. Or that is what I continuously think. I think I am such an expert on this country really. After a few short years I apparently know everything. But some children decided to teach me differently. I have heard Taiko before and I enjoy listening to it. As I was listening to the children at Monju Elementary school play today I realized that people who are passionless could never have created this kind of music. It goes against everything the stereotypes in my head whisper to me. The beats build up to wild frenzies that my heart tries to match. They reverberate in my core. My eyes get dizzy watching the untamed arms striking the drum again and again in a blur of motion and color. Passionless people could never dream of this, much less create and perfect it. Another stereotype destroyed.

I climbed a mountain with a group of children. They were like children anywhere in the world: laughing, tired, loud, complaining, playing. When we got to the top of the mountain I noticed a difference though. The children all made a plea to the spirit of the mountain, Monju-san, for various things. One child wished to be better in school. Another child asked to be a great professional baseball player like Matsui. The thing that struck me in all of them was the respect they have for nature. Although their prayers were half in jest, the other half of them was perfectly serious in recognizing parts of nature as deities. It is influenced by Shintoism, but even aside from the religious aspect, I liked the idea that these children are brought up respecting nature. The idea of respect is difficult to define though. They respect nature by recognizing a certain holiness to it. Yet when they are adults they will probably continue to coat it in cement just like everyone else in this country has done for the last 50 years.

I sat on a mountain
High above the city lights.
The cicadas covered me like honey
With their song.
Light bounced back down
Off leaves in the dark.
One small voice
Made a plea
That, carried deep into the mountain,
Was heard by
One small deity
The bonfire burned
Sending ashes into the air
Until nothing was left to send
Then, when we had nothing left to ask
We too descended in the dark