And now back in the Kyo I try to sort everything out. How does all I went through at the Ashram fit into the world I once comfortably lived in? The whole tree has been shaken, the leaves have fallen. Like a fortune teller reading tea, I try to find meaning in the patterns.
So it is with open eyes that I walk through my days. In fact, the metaphor can be followed up into the Higashiyama hills, where I spend my weekends following the main path, yet am confused by the constant criss-crossing of other trails: trails that tempt me, trails I've walked before, yet lead me in directions I am not planning to go.
One day, Miki and I follow one, way up Mikage toward Hiei. Along the way, we find a long set of steps, leading to a Shrine whose main diety is a mythological white snake. (Shades of the Indian Naga cult?) Beyond its waterfalls is a cabin, with a tree house beyond. A man stands in front, cutting wood. He invites us in to warm ourselves by the fireplace, have some tea. It turns out that he's an artist and environmentalist. He spends a good part of the year in Africa, but happens to be here today. He points out back, to a large clearing beside the stream. We often have events here, he tells us. It dawns on me that Mandala and a couple other groups played a gig here last fall, but I didn't go since it had rained. We talk awhile, telling him that we are trying to find the main 36 peak trail, and how last month, we were led by a kitsune to that weird slice of West Virginia nearby. He warns us to be careful around here, since this place is called Mamushi-dani, or Valley of the Vipers. Ah, those Naga again...
Later there are parties, meals, gallery openings. Yet despite being around people, even those I really love, I'm still distant, unable to full verbalize what I myself don't understand.
They ask, "How was India."
"It was good, " I say. "..."
Even after a month, I don't yet have the ability to translate the subtle shifts of the spirit.
I will write about the Ashram.
Eventually...
On the turntable: Apples in Stereo, "New Magnetic Wonder"
On the nighttable: Haruki Murakami, "Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman"
So it is with open eyes that I walk through my days. In fact, the metaphor can be followed up into the Higashiyama hills, where I spend my weekends following the main path, yet am confused by the constant criss-crossing of other trails: trails that tempt me, trails I've walked before, yet lead me in directions I am not planning to go.
One day, Miki and I follow one, way up Mikage toward Hiei. Along the way, we find a long set of steps, leading to a Shrine whose main diety is a mythological white snake. (Shades of the Indian Naga cult?) Beyond its waterfalls is a cabin, with a tree house beyond. A man stands in front, cutting wood. He invites us in to warm ourselves by the fireplace, have some tea. It turns out that he's an artist and environmentalist. He spends a good part of the year in Africa, but happens to be here today. He points out back, to a large clearing beside the stream. We often have events here, he tells us. It dawns on me that Mandala and a couple other groups played a gig here last fall, but I didn't go since it had rained. We talk awhile, telling him that we are trying to find the main 36 peak trail, and how last month, we were led by a kitsune to that weird slice of West Virginia nearby. He warns us to be careful around here, since this place is called Mamushi-dani, or Valley of the Vipers. Ah, those Naga again...
Later there are parties, meals, gallery openings. Yet despite being around people, even those I really love, I'm still distant, unable to full verbalize what I myself don't understand.
They ask, "How was India."
"It was good, " I say. "..."
Even after a month, I don't yet have the ability to translate the subtle shifts of the spirit.
I will write about the Ashram.
Eventually...
On the turntable: Apples in Stereo, "New Magnetic Wonder"
On the nighttable: Haruki Murakami, "Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman"
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