During my interim in suburban-industrial Hiroshima, I found myself growing a little scattered. Partly it was the train and auto traffic passing close to both sides of the house. Partly it was the constant flow of details and possibilities that needed attending in regard to our resettling in Kyoto.
I found ground in daily walks up the road to Oogashira Jinja. Up the ravine behind the shrine was a powerful waterfall that beautifully shaped the colorful rocks upon which it fell. In this peaceful nook, I began to teach Sora the magic of the world, placing her hand upon the smooth coolness of stone, upon the moist cold of bark and moss. I let the spray of the falls baptize her face.
As we strolled, I found myself wanting to walk with her at the speed of her thought, to allow her to engage things at her own natural pace. There must be neuroscience somewhere on the thoughts of infants. Do my daughter's thoughts move and pause like an adult on strong psychedelics? Or are they more like the hyperkinetic frenzy of disconnected synaptic stimulation?
Sora herself isn't telling.
On the turntable: Rustic Overtones, "Rooms by the Hour"
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