Knowing Tranquility XX (Miyajima)

The storm was coming, and I needed to find safe haven.  I originally considered waiting things out in Hiroshima proper, but I am not much in the mood for big cities.  Besides, as my daughter's mother is from there, my own history has been firmly interwoven with the place, and I reference it in numerous ways that have nothing to do with the sea.  When in town, I hardly notice that its there.  Instead, I take the old trolley into town to visit a pizza joint I know called Mario's, with a bizarre decor of light blue that reminds me somewhat of the US Navy of the 1940s, particularly Sinatra in uniform for some reason. Along the way, an old man is sitting directly before me, his head turned up toward mine.  He is of that certain age…  I look down to make eye-contact.  "Are you going to the A-bomb Dome?'  he asks me.  "Yes," I answer, squatting down to make my eyes the level of his.   
"I was a soldier when I was seventeen, and that morning, the bomb destroyed the barracks around me."  He presses one his palms to his ribs.  "I still have the scars here.  
I don't say anything, just nod as I continue looking at his warm eyes. 
He smiles.  "That was a long time ago.  I've traveled all over the world, seen many countries.  But I've never been to America."
I was expecting this, but not what he said next.  
"Too many guns there."

Peace Park.  It feels almost criminal not to visit Hiroshima and not stop by.  There's now a direct ferry from the park to Miyajima.  Such an obvious idea, but one didn't come into existence until 2014.  What took them so long?  I have my own store of memories of Miyajima too, but it feels like a better place to hunker down for the next few days.  It seems the right thing to do, to pass the typhoon while on an island, to see what the locals usually face.  It isn't as brave as it sounds, since the main towns of most islands tend to face north, and storms hit from the south.  This is deliberate of course.  

As it is, the storm passes across the mainland anyway, right through the city of Hiroshima itself.  But the rain falls for two full days nevertheless, leaving me little to do but wander around with two-thirds of the world hidden by my umbrella. I tend to avoid aquariums in Japan, but there is little else to do on such a rainy day.  Inside, I have a bizarre encounter with a pure-white dolphin, that just bobs on his side of the glass, pondering me. It feels a little like a sci-fi film, of an alien trying to make contact.   
I give up on the day and return to my inn, to reread a book by Alex Kerr find on a bookshelf near the in a small reading room off the lobby.  Midway through I check my email and find I have received an email from the man himself.  Very small place indeed, this Japan, despite these hundreds of islands. 

And this particular island I have to myself, encountering nearly no one as I drop into shops, to ponder the infinity of choice of wooden rice scoops. Lunches are long, usually involving oysters just coming into season, spent in conversation with the owners happy to be distracted.  I am pleased to find a pop-up craft beer bar, which may not last the season.  Hopefully others will take it's place.  The rain is lifting, so I take a glass out to the seawall, where I sit awhile, watching life return after the rains.

Tourists accompany the return of the sun.  I decide to watch the recession of mists from the top of Mt. Misen, to enjoy a hike among the stone Buddhas along the trail.  It has always been one of my favorite hikes, but am put off a little by the number of people attempting to dispute the laws of impermanence with their selfie sticks. I lose them by dropping down the trail to Daisho-in, one of my favorite temples in Japan.  The main hall has a large sand mandala made by Tibetan monks during the Dalai Lama's Sacred Music Festival, held here in 2001.  That weekend will always be one of the highlights of my near 25 years in Japan.  But sadly a few months later the Twin Towers fell, and the entire  world began to change.      

It is time to move on, but the journey that began in Himeji ages ago finished here.  During one of my last boat rides I was already thinking of a follow up trip sometime, one that leaves Donald Richie behind.  Instead I'd take Basho, who famously said, ""Seek not to follow in the footsteps of men of old; seek what they sought." In this spirit, I''d next time paying closer attention to where the ferries run, trying to go as much as possible from island to island, and hit spots I missed this time around.  And I would certainly move at a slower pace, spending more time on the islands themselves, getting to know the locals, familiarize myself with a way of life that isn't long for the world. 
 

On the turntable:  Jane Siberry, "Child"