Before all of you religious fanatics get "all up in my digital grill," just continue reading on for a few lines and most all will be explained.
I spent my Sunday in a sweaty dogi and a too small white belt standing amongst a group of 40 or so Japanese Karate practitioners from about 10:30 a.m. until 6 p.m. I will say that it was one of the best days I have ever had. First, before I get down to the details I should set up the scene. The dojo was about the size of a large living room, about 50' x 25', with hardwood flooring and a small shrine in the front of the room. The shrine is adorned with a small sitting pillow, an arm resting stool and a pair of ornamental wooden swords. There is also a framed picture of the Japanese flag and another framed picture of the recently deceased head of the school(the Soke-Sensei). The school is now run by his son who, after an appropriate 1 year mourning period, legally changed his name to his father's name to take over the school. This is a rather common Japanese custom in terms of the arts and martial arts.
So now back to the action. All of the students and teachers, ranks ranging from 10kyu (lowest white belt) to 8 and 9 dan black belts, line up in this small dojo and await the arrival of the main man, the emperor's enchilada, the Soke to end all Sokes, the Japanese Gangster Pope. Yes, that last title is not only insulting to the Pope, but also the head of my Karate school. So, shh. Don't tell anyone. I call him the Japanese Gangster Pope for a couple of reasons. First, he is treated with such reverence and piety that upon his choreographed entrance into the dojo, after exiting his Mercedes, everyone drops to their knees and bows, putting their heads to the hardwood floor. Secondly, he is a gangster because the suit that he was wearing when he walked in the dojo was straight out of a 1990's "yakuza/Japanese gangster" movie. His navy blue and white pinstripe suit was only accentuated by his perfectly greased-back 1950's "Arthur Herbert Fonzarelli" hair. Lastly, he is Japanese so I think it is perfectly appropriate to call him the Japanese Gangster Pope, although not nearly reverent enough.
Throughout the whole day I kind of felt like an outsider looking in on a secret cult, not only because the entire thing was conducted in Japanese but because everyone seemed to know the rhythm and method of the seeming madness. The day started off just like all of my karate practices, warm ups followed by punching, kicking and blocking routines to ensure that they are being done properly. Upon my failure of one of these blocking techniques, the Head Honcho, Soke-Sensei, came over and brought the whole group of people to kneel around me while he showed me how poorly I was doing. It was slightly embarrassing but I felt a little honored to be directly instructed by the man himself.
The day continued for another 2 hours until lunch time. With hardly a word, tables, cups, tea, soup and "obento/box lunch" were brought out and set up in the dojo. For several long, agonizing minutes all of the students just floated around the room trying to decide where to sit and what would be appropriate. I asked one of my Japanese friends if this was normal behavior and his response was, "In Japan there are many implied rules about things like this...but we don't know what they are." So eventually one of the instructors noticed everyone's awkward behavior and told us to sit down where ever we liked. After lunch, my friend told me that my pants were quite yellow. Knowing that this would happen, I was not surprised at all. When one's clothing gets soaked from sweat and one sits on dirty hardwood floors, the color of the floor gets easily transferred to the white fabric of one's pants. It happens to me every practice so I am no longer surprised, but only after practice when I changed my clothes could I truly acknowledge the seriousness of the stain. Boy, was it hilarious looking.
The day went on for 6 more hours after lunch. The people who were testing for their next belt ranks took their tests and then we prepared for the practice "kumite/fighting". This was so much fun. I only had one match, and I lost 4 points to 0, but I had fun. I blocked one of my opponent's punches so hard that he nearly fell over and I got one punch to the chin and neck that didn't count because I didn't retract my fist fast enough.
At the end of the day, the Soke Sensei came up to me again and said in Japanese, "Thank you for coming today and for working so hard. Next time I have one of these seminars, you are welcome to attend." I was pretty honored and held my head a little higher. Although I didn't win my match or even do very well, I still had a good day but 9 hours of karate will make anyone tired.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Self-realizations and a bit of Philosophy
I came to a surreal and shocking realization this weekend. As the death throes of winter sputter out and are exorcised by the warming weather and the blooming white and pink flowers, I realized that (1) I am extremely happy, and those that know me should be shocked at not only my ability to admit this but also at the sheer rarity at which those words come from my mouth. And (2), I am entertained, and those of you that know me should be shocked at this because I am usually the one in the corner bored to tears at any particular event.
I am not sure what brought about these sudden realizations whether it be the weather or the fact that I have finally turned introspective since arriving here in Japan. I am not sure. But I had a conversation recently where I said, without hesitation, that coming to Japan was the best decision I could have ever made. I am not someone who usually regrets many things he says or does, because I usually am very careful about what I say and do. But on more than one occasion I have experienced the emotion of "buyers remorse" for my actions, as we all do. Being as close to perfect as any human being can be, I feel those emotions very rarely, more rarely than most other humans, I would suppose. And thus the surreal experience of self-realization and introspection. When one believes oneself is the gods gift to humanity, as I often consider myself, it is a strange moment indeed to examine one's soul. Stranger still, to find things you were not expecting, like complete comfort and confidence in the path one walks.
Maybe these new emotional and intellectual responses to my, up until recently, unexamined essence are the result of finding things that I truly enjoy doing and friends I have grown to love and trust completely. That is not to say that my life, up until now, and my friendship, up until now, have been disingenuous in anyway, merely that I have come to see the grandness in companionship in a new light.
------Philosophical Speculation Below, Stop Reading Now--------
There is a poignant line in a bad movie which I always seemed to expound as an utilitarian philosophy for life: "What good is a flower? You can't eat it...It does nothing for you."
This point of view, that usefulness is always preferable to the solely aesthetic, was my mantra for a long time. And I prided myself on the "sensible" nature of this line of thinking. Of course, limiting oneself to the narrow path of usefulness alone is a self-handicapping philosophy. I now ask myself, "Why can't it be both?" I have come to believe that the beautiful and the useful can be just as easily intertwined as they can be stripped apart.
Let's look at the flower from the movie quote. What good is a flower to human beings? (Aside from the strictly scientific answer that says that the flowers germinate and spread pollen through bees and so on and so on. But that in itself is an answer) Well, there is no utilitarian purpose to the flower, where humans are concerned. As the quotation says, we can't eat it, it doesn't bring me a newspaper like a well trained dog, or juggle flaming bowling pins like a jester on television or an ill-trained buffoon. What then is the utility of a flower? So many people are allergic to their pollen and despise their smell, yet what makes the millions, and I mean millions, of people come to Kyoto or Washington D.C. to see a flower? Even as I sit here looking out my window at work, there are hundreds of people crowding around the canal and the handful of さくら(sakura) cherry trees. They are all happy, smiling, talking, strolling, photographing, remembering, reminiscing, and breathing. Those people sitting out on their blue tarps are truly living. Each breath an enjoyable adventure, filled with the promise of new and coming experiences and the recollection of their own short lives, made evidently clear by the truly sad and mockingly short life of a sakura blossom.
And thus, that is the purpose, the utility, the whole point of the existence of a flower, from a human's point of view. It is for enjoyment. The flower's momentary existence mirrors the short and also rather useless existence of a human. The 10 days lifespan of a flower is a relative pin prick in the existence of a human who will live more than 295,000 days. And the existence of one human who will live 295,000 days is a relative pin prick to the over all history of the Earth who has already lived 1,460,000,000,000 days and will likely live that much more again. And Earth's meager existence is a mere pin prick in the overall history and expanse of the universe.
And thus, what is the purpose, the utility, the whole point of existence of a human, from the universe's point of view? Do we bud, cluster, and bloom for the enjoyment of the universe? Do the gods, the universe, or whatever we believe in look down on these old and young people, clustered together under these cherry trees like the blossomed and still budding flowers they admire so much, and smile in ironic omnipotence? Maybe. That sure would be funny.
I am not sure what brought about these sudden realizations whether it be the weather or the fact that I have finally turned introspective since arriving here in Japan. I am not sure. But I had a conversation recently where I said, without hesitation, that coming to Japan was the best decision I could have ever made. I am not someone who usually regrets many things he says or does, because I usually am very careful about what I say and do. But on more than one occasion I have experienced the emotion of "buyers remorse" for my actions, as we all do. Being as close to perfect as any human being can be, I feel those emotions very rarely, more rarely than most other humans, I would suppose. And thus the surreal experience of self-realization and introspection. When one believes oneself is the gods gift to humanity, as I often consider myself, it is a strange moment indeed to examine one's soul. Stranger still, to find things you were not expecting, like complete comfort and confidence in the path one walks.
Maybe these new emotional and intellectual responses to my, up until recently, unexamined essence are the result of finding things that I truly enjoy doing and friends I have grown to love and trust completely. That is not to say that my life, up until now, and my friendship, up until now, have been disingenuous in anyway, merely that I have come to see the grandness in companionship in a new light.
------Philosophical Speculation Below, Stop Reading Now--------
There is a poignant line in a bad movie which I always seemed to expound as an utilitarian philosophy for life: "What good is a flower? You can't eat it...It does nothing for you."
This point of view, that usefulness is always preferable to the solely aesthetic, was my mantra for a long time. And I prided myself on the "sensible" nature of this line of thinking. Of course, limiting oneself to the narrow path of usefulness alone is a self-handicapping philosophy. I now ask myself, "Why can't it be both?" I have come to believe that the beautiful and the useful can be just as easily intertwined as they can be stripped apart.
Let's look at the flower from the movie quote. What good is a flower to human beings? (Aside from the strictly scientific answer that says that the flowers germinate and spread pollen through bees and so on and so on. But that in itself is an answer) Well, there is no utilitarian purpose to the flower, where humans are concerned. As the quotation says, we can't eat it, it doesn't bring me a newspaper like a well trained dog, or juggle flaming bowling pins like a jester on television or an ill-trained buffoon. What then is the utility of a flower? So many people are allergic to their pollen and despise their smell, yet what makes the millions, and I mean millions, of people come to Kyoto or Washington D.C. to see a flower? Even as I sit here looking out my window at work, there are hundreds of people crowding around the canal and the handful of さくら(sakura) cherry trees. They are all happy, smiling, talking, strolling, photographing, remembering, reminiscing, and breathing. Those people sitting out on their blue tarps are truly living. Each breath an enjoyable adventure, filled with the promise of new and coming experiences and the recollection of their own short lives, made evidently clear by the truly sad and mockingly short life of a sakura blossom.
And thus, that is the purpose, the utility, the whole point of the existence of a flower, from a human's point of view. It is for enjoyment. The flower's momentary existence mirrors the short and also rather useless existence of a human. The 10 days lifespan of a flower is a relative pin prick in the existence of a human who will live more than 295,000 days. And the existence of one human who will live 295,000 days is a relative pin prick to the over all history of the Earth who has already lived 1,460,000,000,000 days and will likely live that much more again. And Earth's meager existence is a mere pin prick in the overall history and expanse of the universe.
And thus, what is the purpose, the utility, the whole point of existence of a human, from the universe's point of view? Do we bud, cluster, and bloom for the enjoyment of the universe? Do the gods, the universe, or whatever we believe in look down on these old and young people, clustered together under these cherry trees like the blossomed and still budding flowers they admire so much, and smile in ironic omnipotence? Maybe. That sure would be funny.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
Posts
