Suddenly Last Summer Last

The walking theme which has reappeared throughout my recent posts really began during the last weekend of September. MatsuMiki and I started the weekend with one of Dana's patently fun yoga classes at Furla, then set off into the city. Miki was in high spirits, which amazed me since she'd spent the night on a bus. Her easy laugh and light chitchat carried us along until we found ourselves in front of a large temple. A festival was in full swing, and as we stood there looking, an old man came up and gave us free tickets, entitling us not only to admission, but also to soba and snowcones. Free! So we ate, sitting on the steps of the temple, trying to see who was having more fun--the kids or the drunks.
About fifty meters away was Rainy Day Cafe. Miki had wanted to surprise Yuko-san, a friend who ran this place. Unfortunately we found it closed. As we were peeking thru the glass, thumbs raised to brows, who should spot us but Yuko, who was spending the day here in order to catch up on a translation for Coyote, the magazine she works for. She invited us in for coffee. We spent a couple happy hours here, the women catching up, me browsing the amazing collection of Beat books. Yoko told me how much trouble she was having with her current translation project and handed me a piece of paper. I found that I was holding the only existing copy of an essay Gerry Lopez wrote on yoga philosophy. Great surprise for me there.
At dusk, Miki and set off toward the heart of the Yamanote. The Roppongi Hills building was our landmark, standing huge and backlit against an overcast sky, the lights of the city turning the clouds the color of antifreeze. We wove thru Aoyama cemetary and ducked under tunnels, but no matter where we stood, or which way we turned, that tower still loomed above. I flashed on a scene from the '76 version of King Kong, where Jeff Bridges heads toward the Twin Towers to save Jessica Lange. Arriving finally at Mori's folly, we met with Dylan, an artist and former roommate of Miki's back in the Kyo. She and her husband Shinobu led us away from all that neon and glass, down not exactly a hill but into what could be more considered a hole, at the bottom of which were a dozen or so house of pre-war vintage. We settled in with wine and conversation, Shinobu entertaining us with stories about noisy neighbors and thin walls. In the house next door were a middle-aged man and his hard-of-hearing mother. Dylan said that their loud arguments more than made up for the lack of television.

The next day, MatsuMiki and I continued our walk, this time thru the forests and moss-covered graveyards of Kamakura. Three bows to D.T. Suzuki, then on into the hills, dropping down to the pirate's lair of Zeniarai Benten to wash our material wealth, and on to the Daibutsu to meditate on its impermanence as we paid admission. Queueing in the rain to enter the giant statue, where once inside we found--nothing. Form is emptiness. Emptiness is form. Back in Tokyo, we further reflected on this balance in the teahouse behind Leza's house, where we spent a rainy night. The good food and wine served as samsaric anchors for the lofty conversation in the main house.

Seeking another pendulum swing the next day at YogaFest. Inside the building there were dozens of yogis and yoginis clutching their mats and water bottles as they waited for their next workshop. There were also an equal number of fashionistas with their hard faces. They say it takes 43 muscles to frown, but only 17 to smile, so I reckon these latter folks were getting a damn good workout. After Leza's enjoyable pair yoga class we tried Miura Toshiro's workshop. I really found myself hooked on Phoenix Rising Yoga Therapy.
Afterward, as we rode the Shinkansen into a sun setting on the last day of summer, I had no idea that I'd be back in Tokyo a few days later, to begin intensive training. Yoga, and lots of it, would be the theme for autumn.



On the turntable: "Africa Fete 99"
On the nighttable: John Dougill, "Kyoto"