30 November

Night has fallen
but still the sky clings
to shreds of blue.

I remember nothing
of summer's heat, yet marvel
at time's flight.

Big days, busy days

Been busy. There's about 9 days left before I turn in the conclusion to my dissertation and then two weeks after that, defense in Providence.
Everything else.

And in those 9 days, we're all feverishly working to bring together the Christmas chakai for about 120 people, including the iemoto (grand master) of the tea school and his family. Basically, the emperor of tea.

And also Glenn Pereira sensei is here! We have to hang out!

And yeah, writing that diss.

So, you may not hear too much from me over the next couple weeks.

But here's this to tide you over: I mailed a package to an APO address last Wednesday, but it turns out that EMS priority air won't mail such packages. And here's how I found out: the post office (just a block from my house) sent a letter to tell me so the day after I'd mailed it. Then the next day I got another one and a verbal message from the lady that tends our front door at the dorm in the day time, but the post office was closed when I went by on Friday (it was a holiday). The thing about the post office is that we are at school during almost every single hour every single day they are open. This particular one isn't even open on Saturday. So it's hard to get there, and I seized a lucky moment when I mailed the package in the first place.

So two letters, then on Monday I got a note delivered to me after afternoon lessons: the post office had CALLED KOKUSAIBU (the International Affairs division of the school) to try to get me the message. I don't even know how they knew to do that, except that I suppose when a foreigner in kimono comes to the post office to mail packages two blocks from the international headquarters of a tea school, they might draw some conclusions.
Then when I got home that night, almost half an hour after the post office had closed again, I got a call on my cell phone-- it was the post office. Sheesh.

I explained that I am always working during their opening hours, but that I'd try to come the next day (today) which was sumikiri, so we had a little more time, although most of the extra time we looked like coal miners.

So I went and did it, covered with charcoal dust and in my samue (monk-type work clothes) at lunch time.  And then it got more hilarious. I had been sort of annoyed anyway when I sent the packages because they asked if there was a letter in the boxes. Not sure what that would mean, I said no and yes to them although they all had a little note of some kind in them. So, the one that went "with letter" also turned out to be the biggest and most expensive, and worst, it turned out that without letter the postage was 2050 yen. With a letter inside, it was 2800 yen. I thought about saying, oh, sorry there *isn't* a letter in there, but I didn't have the nerve. Even though that would be the Japanese way.

So, I lost 800 yen, was minorly annoyed. THEN TODAY, since I can't send to an APO with EMS, the price for the box jumped up to 4200 YEN!!!  I asked, isn't there another way? What if it weren't airmail? She said, it can be small packet with no letter. How much is that? 2050 yen. 

Yes, it cost 2150 yen to have a letter in that box. I said, I'm taking out the letter, and I ripped open the tape and took out the little slip of envelope and then they sealed it back up while I did the customs form.  So NOW they owe me 650 yen.  It turns out the post office pays refunds in stamps.  So I got as many international mail stamps as I could and a couple random ones to make up the difference.

And I wish I could say I stuck one 110 yen stamp on that letter and mailed it right next to the box it would've cost 2150 yen to mail, but I didn't. I hadn't written the address on properly.

Funny.

消し道 - The Way of Erasing

The other day we had a lecture by Matsunami-sensei who is an old man who only two weeks ago completed treatment for stomach cancer. He is a zen abbot from Daitokuji. He is clearly still very weak from chemo or radiation but he is also totally amazing and I kinda love him.

The most amazing thing about him, possibly, was the way he erased the white board when he needed more space. He was extremely deliberate about it, erasing along the lines, then elegantly dodging and dipping here and there to pick up the last stray marks.  It looked to me exactly like doing Japanese calligraphy in reverse---
lines of text disappearing into the board through delicate serpentine twists and turns.

I have decided to become a student of Keshido-- The way of erasing.

Although I know nothing of tomorrow...

...I have made plans:

Going to Providence on December 20 until December 23. Brutally, depressingly short amount of time and I know many of my favorite people won't be there. If you WILL be there, let me know!

I defend the diss on December 21. It has been a long strange ride. I hope it will end on this shortest day and I can begin the long journey into the light.


December 23-January 5:  KANSAS. Holler if you'll be there too.

January 5-7: LOS ANGELES.  If you are in LA too, let me know.

January 7 to ?: TOKYO. HANG OUT WITH ME!?

January 12: Back to Kyoto.

New strategy

Everytime something annoys me, I vow to try to avoid doing that thing. Working under the premise that the things that tend to irritate me in other people are usually things that I am afraid I myself do. Also working under the premise that I can't change other people, but attempting to avoid the feeling that there's nothing I can do about my situation.

Example: if someone constantly one-ups me as a form of conversation, and I find that irritating that they seem to be always trying to maneuver me into the lesser position (be that "less stressed out," "less accomplished," "less interesting"), then be careful not to engage in conversation in that way. If I notice myself do it, make a conscious effort to make the next statement in some other way.

Example: If someone hurts my feelings or frustrates me by scolding me or correcting me, think of ways to avoid hurting feelings or frustrating people when I suggest a change or correction.

The thing is around here, as much as there are a million rules, vast oceans of things each moment don't have a specific rule attached (we're in "taste" school, and how do we arbitrate a rulebook of taste?!), and then we all have to decide amongst ourselves what to do (but of course as some people are more equal than others, sempais' notions of what we should do carry more weight than kohais'). Then we do that thing, and live with the consequences. That's the bit where failing better comes in-- which does not mean making the less-bad mistake--but means learning to be corrected with more grace and fewer excuses.


Not sure if I sound like a broken record with how often I reiterate the theme-of-the-blog, but then if I'm still learning it every time new, then maybe it doesn't feel so old to read about it either. Or maybe it does. Let me know. I enabled comments more fully (although if you publish anonymously, do please sign your name so I know who you are!)

Kencha at Tenryuji

We went to kencha for the founding abbot of Tenryuji zen temple in Arashiyama (a beautiful mountainous area of west Kyoto, or west of Kyoto, depending on how you want to think of it). We all sat in the main hall, ranged on two sides with iemoto in the middle. Midorikai and the other gakuen students are always first there, but always grouped in the back. I suppose it's a privilege to get to go, but we're supposed to be unobtrusive and self-effacing, so we get there first then fill up the back seats to make the room look nice and full. Seriously. This happens in tea seatings too-- if it looks sort of thin, they grab helpers and have us go out and be guests so it's full.
So, back row. And as much as I'm fairly tall for a girl in Japan, I'm short waisted and by no means an Amazon, so I couldn't really see anything unless I hitched myself up on my toes instead of kneeling properly. I did that some, but then I also didn't want people to think it was because I'm not capable of sitting, and also, it's kinda uncomfortable and I couldn't see that much more anyway. So kencha. Like the other kenchas, the "Mizuya boys" (these are the junior tea assistant guys, who are simultaneously high-ranking amongst us Urasenke tea folks above non-Mizuya employees and students because they are part of the iemoto's household and they are probably on their way to gyotei-sensei (which is the highest ranking tea teachers), but also very much like domestic servants, because the part of the household they're in is the Mizuya--the kitchen-- doing all the labor of running the Urasenke estate Konnichian at all hours, stoking fires, prepping ash (haigata), packing, carrying-- everything.) So anyway, Mizuya boys (many of whom are, to be fair, men) set everything up, keep an eye on everything; iemoto pops out at the moment when everyone is set and does the temae (procedure).

Here's a shot from waiting:

last girl standing

Someone observed the other day that Midorikai is like kindergarten.  Currently this is mainly because as soon as one person gets sick, everyone gets sick. And it's not just MIdorikai, it's the whole 55 students of Gakuen. Blame the bit where we make food and drink for each other all day long in charcoal heated non-ventilated rooms and drinking from the same bowl half the time, then washing everything in cold water without soap and shivering through lectures in unheated classrooms. I guess. And spending 12 hours a day together and not sleeping that much.

Anyway. I'm the ONLY ONE of NINE Midorikaisei who hasn't been sick or started to come down with a sore throat in the last five days. The last few days it was Mike and Olya in masks, today we had the three "masketeers" in their face masks, plus Sarah under some other weird bad weather, Paivi with no voice at all, and Damian saying he has a sore throat too.  I feel like the last human in the zombie apocalypse surrounded by the toxic reanimated corpses of my friends. I am not going without a fight, but it's actually kinda lonely being a survivor.

I'm so paranoid. At least if I got ill, there would be no more hesitating before picking up every little thing, talking to anyone, sitting next to anyone, going out into the cold, eating drinking, etc.  I'm pounding vitamins and Vitamin C and ginger drink-- just like a sick person anyway.

But I WILL NEVER SURRENDER!

Inoko Matsuri

At the end of a long tumultuous day of good and exciting things and stressful things and too many feelings, we finally made it out to try to find the Inoko Matsuri-- Inoshishi (Boar) festival-- to celebrate the boar who protects from the dangers of fire.

So here's how it goes: first they ceremoniously make mochi for the emperor to make him nice and strong. And then they take it in a procession headed up by two lanterns on poles and a big slow pounding drum in the dark to the imperial palace (although, yes, the emperor lives in Tokyo now and hasn't lived here for 150 years. Habits die hard.) After that, when the procession gets back to Go'o shrine they start making mochi for everybody! And we all can get in line to pound the mochi, which I did, and there is an awesome childlike song we all sing while pounding. 

We ran into Imagawa sensei and a bunch of gakuen students too.

 It all looks like this:

関 Kan

関 Kan.

Kan is a barrier but also a gate, like a checkpoint. This is a useful zen idea-- something that is a barrier is also a gate, a limen and a connection. There are tons of commentaries on this notion, and "Kan" is a popular zen scroll.  For me, I often think of 関 when I'm up against something that is giving me trouble, usually here at Midorikai that trouble is attitude trouble. This would be because we are in a high pressure situation in which the bulk of the work, the massive underpart of the iceberg of which tea procedure is the proverbial tip, is monastery-like, working on the self. There is so much time for self-reflection. Now, I don't think everyone exactly does this, but it's what I find myself doing more of than ever before.

So 関. It's the first of a new month (always extremely busy anyway with special greetings and classes and scholarship receipt) and not just a new month but a new season for Tea-- the opening of the ro sunken hearth-- what is called "chajin no shougatsu"-- Tea people's New Year-- and all that comes along with it (yesterday was a big cleaning day and today there was a special event where gyotei sensei made tea for all the students). For all that all this stuff was great, it's also hard: lots of new things to deal with--for instance, my continuing curse/blessing of having to do everything first of the four of us came true again (at first it was because I'm oldest and the first alplabetically, but it has become cosmic: just by the random rotation of daily duties I've ended up being the first to try out first the brazier charcoal setting and then today the first again randomly to do first charcoal in the sunken hearth.) So that was hard.

There was the icky moment where after we'd all sat down in the waiting room with the sempai ahead of the kohai the sempai, Mike leaned over and informed us that we should rearrange when we went into the tea seating so that the two boys were first and the girls afterward (just as the Japanese students do). Well, I assented, then as we sat there and I relayed the message, I suddenly realized that that idea was repugnant to me. Not because I wanted to be first personally (and anyway, we wouldn't be-- we were in the room with the third years who would obviously all be first, and our boys went after their girls, etc etc.), but because I think it's wrong to perpetuate something so stupid and right to try in a very tiny way to set an example that it's okay for female people to sit first sometimes, and sometimes not.  Now, we spend a lot of time compromising and doing TONS of things we wouldn't otherwise do, including things in which we (I) acquiesce to gender inequalities that I think are wrong.  Let me be quite clear: I do this all the time. Every day at chorei the boys sit highest and the girls are ranged below them. Even though Damian's the youngest of we four, he sits above me, and then we're in alphabetical order. I acquiesced to that and I acquiesce again every single day by sitting in my assigned spot.
But for some reason this felt different. Part of the reason was that it was a disruption to rearrange ourselves as we all flowed smoothly out of the tea room and into the tea room, and because we kohai had whispered amongst ourselves  and decided it was wrong to do it and we would rather not. Because Paivi also thought it was wrong, I was bolstered in the feeling that we should not do this thing, because it was wrong. And Sarah and Damian seemed to agree, but then in the moment there was rustling and whispering and the whole line was stupidly held up while they tried to get Damian into line in front so it was no time to explain that we had carefully considered the matter and that we would actually prefer to go in the order that we had chosen. It was faster and easier to acquiesce again and then in the end we very last girls weren't able to see much of anything because we were ranged around behind the back of the host while the boys were able to see. Which is also not a big deal-- it happens all the time, but it started to be a thing.
When I brought it up afterward, it turns out that the sempai all thought like we did, but have mellowed over six months. And apologised for the way it got handled, since part of the problem was the high-stress situation of having no say, no plans, and no ability to work out what was right. It also turns out that they'd been told at other events to have the boys go first. Which makes it a little harder to strike a tiny blow for gender equality if you've been told not to. On the other hand, it's only just now writing this that I've suddenly realized that the gakuensei may not have phrased their instructions in the form of a command, like "it's bad if you don't have the boys first" but they might have just been telling us how they do it, because it is of course a courtesy to explain the accepted way of doing things. Maybe if in the moment we'd just said (the we here is Midorikai. I wasn't here yet.) "we don't do it that way, we do it by age or experience." they would have shrugged and gone on.

This is one of those problems. The line for a "foreigner" is always, no matter what, different. What a Japanese person can do is not necessarily what a foreigner can do without censure. And vice versa.  Now, the kneejerk American-esque reaction would be to say that's ridiculous and that there's no special essence of Japaneseness that is impenetrable by foreigners. Of course I agree with this. BUT. Pragmatically speaking, it's never going to be like that. No matter if we act totally interchangeable with our Japanese counterparts, it won't make a difference. We will still be perceived as outsiders in certain ways. So I guess I'm saying, why not embrace that discrimination that will remain, and do what you think is right instead of doing what you think is wrong, just because it's what everyone else is doing? In this crazy gig of ours, the same thing as everyone else is almost always going to be the right thing. But I'm suggesting that it won't always be.

Now, to leave this on a bit of a cliffhanger, this tangent I went off on isn't what ate me up all day. A combination of things did; mostly just exhaustion combined with a series of unfortunate events. Worries about other people and a measure of self-pity for some other things that are going on. But it's quite late now, and I need to go to bed. So we'll call this Kan Part I.

And anyway, there's a late afternoon like this:

Shall we just watch the sky instead?