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Writings about Kyoto, whether by Japanese or foreign observers

A Runner in Yamazaki

by Michael Greco

The neighbors call me the marathon runner.

Almost every afternoon at dusk I run from the house, through the neighborhood, across a street, then under the JR and Hankyu lines. It’s about five minutes of exercise to that point.

And I’m slow. Real slow.

The chatty gal across the street from our house calls out, “Lots of running, but you’re not slim. You don’t have the body of a runner.”

What gall. She’s old, I’m old, everybody’s old. We’re old people and say what we want.

I live below a mountain called Tenno-zan in the city of Yamazaki, in Kyoto. We wouldn’t call it a mountain in the West, but a Japanese friend once made the distinction to me by saying that if it’s not cultivated to any noticeable degree, then it’s a mountain.

I’m happy with that delineation. I like living under a mountain.

My run continues, and I jump a series of large stone slab-like steps with some zest because this is the most satisfying part of the routine. The jumping is fun.

After the stone slabs I’m winded and walk slowly past a sign that warns of perverts (Chikan Chui!) to a clearing that overlooks my town of Yamazaki. I do a few simple stretches there next to a little fence that protects the ruins of many old roof-tile kilns, built in the Heiankyo period.

Out of my own neighborhood now, I become a familiar stranger. The same people are out, jogging lightly like myself or walking their dogs. One woman walks her cat. There are few people about up here at the base of Tenno-zan and that’s a big part of the charm of this routine.

Next, I commence the second part of the run, puffing my way higher up the mountain and then skirting the base of the temple (called Hoshakuji), where my family enjoys ringing the temple gong every New Years. The wife and daughter are now in Malaysia—our twelve-year-old studies at an American school in Kuala Lumpur. They took the cat, too, so I’m alone, tinkering about in a big, old house. But I continue the custom, ringing the gong to bring in this year, and I will do so again for next year. It’s a Greco family tradition.

After this second short run (though most would not call it that), I reward myself by sitting on a cement pylon at the top of another set of stone steps. Here, I catch my breath, and allow myself to do some lingering dreaming. I’m up fairly high now, and a good deal of Kyoto opens below me.

There is an uguisu, or bush warbler, a small green fellow that’s been chirping away in the nearby trees every day since early March. It has such a beautiful call. Is it lonely? Has it lost a mate? Does it have a family?

An elderly man passed me on the pylon a month back and descended the stairway, then paused, squinting, trying to find the source of that beautiful call.

“You can’t see it,” I said to the man. “It’s impossible. I’ve been trying to spot it since spring.”

The man chuckled, and continued carefully down the steps.

Located roughly midway between Osaka and Kyoto, Yamazaki can’t really boast of much—for tourists, anyway—other than the Suntory distillery and the Asahi art museum. This place is really all about the mountain. One can just feel the aged wisdom of Tenno-zan, this grand, old sage.

Many know of the famous Battle of Yamazaki five-hundred years ago. One can gaze down at the site of the battle, fall back all those centuries and imagine the clashing legions below. The mountain has its unique place in the history of this region, and it’s earned a certain prerogative.

After my five minutes of reflection, I walk back down to the base of the mountain, past the Chikan Chui! sign, under the train tracks, and across the road.

Back on flat ground for the final leg, I run again. This is my three-minute dash home, once more through the neighborhood. I wave at the people, but I don’t stop, so serious a runner I am. I make it back home, about twelve minutes of run time total, though I’ve been gone a half-hour. It’s not exactly Olympic training.

“It’s a shame they cancelled the Kyoto Marathon again, isn’t it,” one neighbor laments to me as I’m undergoing my final leg stretches.

I agree, pretending I had every intention of joining the marathon. Piece of cake!

It’s a lie, of course, I can’t really run. I’m as far from a marathon runner as a bush warbler is from an eagle. But they never see that. They only see me running through the neighborhood and make assumptions that I have this lasting quality of physical gumption, something I’ve never possessed. I’m no marathon man. I’m the stretching and sitting on a pylon man, a dreaming man. But it’s my secret.

Only one neighbor seems to suspect, the chatty gal across the street. “He doesn’t have a runner’s body,” she clucks to another neighbor, unmindful if I overhear or not.

Old people are like old mountains—we’ve earned that prerogative.

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For an interview with Michael Greco about his writing, please click here.

8/1 Zoom with Rebecca Otowa

SUNDAY AUGUST 1, 2021
8:00-9:00 pm Japan Time

coming home far from home: meet the memoir writer’s series II

Interview with Rebecca Otowa, author of AT HOME IN JAPAN, hosted by Goshen Books

Free and open to the public

To reserve your spot: hello@goshenbooks.com

(The following originally appeared on the Goshen Books website)

Rebecca Otowa was born in 1955 in California, and at age 12 moved to Australia with her family. After graduating BA (Hons. Japanese Language and Literature) from Queensland University, she received a scholarship to study in Japan and went to Kyoto in 1978, abandoning her first preoccupation, orchestral music. She graduated MA (Japanese Buddhism) from Otani University and thereafter never left Japan.

While a student, she met Toshiro Otowa, an engineering student who was besotted by Australia, and with each other’s culture as a bond, they started dating and were married in 1981.

In 1986 the little family, which now included two sons, moved back to his ancestral home in Shiga Prefecture, adjacent to Kyoto, and set up housekeeping with his mother. Rebecca has lived there ever since, writing, drawing, teaching English, working in her garden, and participating in various local groups.

To date she has published three books, At Home in Japan (essays, Tuttle 2010), My Awesome Japan Adventure (children’s book, Tuttle 2013) and The Mad Kyoto Shoe Swapper (short stories, Tuttle 2019). All are illustrated by the author. She has also painted over 50 pictures of various genres, and held 2 shows (2015 and 2019).

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To learn about the artwork of Rebecca, see this page.
For the report of a lunch talk by Rebecca, click here.

Authors who belong to Writers in Kyoto

Just Like This (Eric Bray)

Lyrics and songs by Eric Bray

Photos by Dale Ward

Eric writes: “Over the past year I worked with producers and musicians mainly in the US to create a bit of fusion between my interests in Latin dance music and folk/rock.’

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The title track ‘Just Like This’ runs as follows: (for the music, check out this youtube page)

Waking to the morning light
Lying there wondering why
This is so easy to forget

I want to walk the streets like this
Under crimson clouds
your kiss your kiss

Lying on our backs like this
Laughing at the stars so far out of reach
Like this, just like this.

Beautiful Venus shining so bright
You ask where
The wonder goes

We stand and share a smile
I take your hand
And into the night we go

Into the night
Into the night
We go

Into the night
Into the night
Into the night
Where the wonder goes

I want to fall asleep like this
In your arms like this
Like this just like this
Like this like this

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Eric writes:’ Two of our esteemed local Kyoto musicians, Gary Tegler on sax and Dale Ward on acoustic guitar, play on the Jazz/Blues track “Love you Enough”.’ (Listen on youtube here.)

You’re sitting there crying say you don’t know why
Got that thinking about leaving look in your eye
What the hell is wrong tonight
Not even sure I want to know why this time
This time………This time

Watch your step on this rocky road
I’m doing my best so that we don’t fall
But if you want to run away
I can’t promise that I’ll say please stay this time
This time…This time..This time

Wind and Rain, Stones and Fire
Can’t keep me satisfied
I need your touch, need your desire
I need your sweet little hand in mine
In mine….this time.

Watch your step on this slippery slope
I’m doing my best to share the load
If you want to leave, you better know
That I might love you enough to let you go
Let you go…This time

Wind and Rain, Stones and Fire
Can’t keep me satisfied
I need your touch, need your desire
I need your sweet little hand in mine
In mine….in mine

If you want to leave, there’s something you better know
That I might love you enough to let you go
Let you go…This time

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Why Why Baby, Goodbye?

For the music, click here.)

I got a few dollars but I’m short on sense
Cuz I’ve been dying to see you again
It’s good I got my friends
To talk me out of trying

Cuz you didn’t treat me so well
But I tell myself what the hell
There ain’t nobody that’s ever loved me
The way that you did

And it’s for the better I know
That you finally had to go
But could you please return my heart and soul
And some of the minor appliances

Where did I go wrong
How can I move on
When I’m not really sure why
You said goodbye, goodbye
Why why baby, goodbye?

I’d love to see you again
I guess that shows to what extent
I ain’t even started to find my way again
without you

Newspapers all out on the lawn
Sinks full of dishes since your gone
And I just can’t seem
To give a damn

And it’s for the better I know
That you finally had to go
But could you please return my heart and soul
And some of the minor appliances

Where did I go wrong
How can I move on
When I’m not really sure why
You said goodbye

Where did I go wrong
How can I move on
Could you just tell me one more time
Why you’re saying goodbye, goodbye
Why why baby, goodbye?

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For Eric’s webpage, see here.
For all the lyrics, here.

Songs can be heard on youtube by searching for Eric Bray and song title.

Creativity Workshop with Paige Baldwin Ando

Zoom meeting on July 18, 2021
Report by Kirsty Kawano

Paige Baldwin Ando

WiK’s July meeting was a departure from our usual presentations by publishers and published authors, with a workshop led by creativity coach Paige Baldwin Ando. She is based in Tokyo but coaches people from all around the world. To give us a taste of how her coaching works, Paige devoted the latter half of the session to taking questions from participants. Her advice was simple—in the way that truths often are—but also powerful. Over Zoom, we watched the expressions on the faces of our fellow inquirers clear as a path through their current creative blockages seemed to open for them.

Paige started the workshop with an exercise. She had us think about containers: any structure that helps you organize and support your work. These “things that you can pour your work into” include aspects such as time (for example, writing for one hour, or creating time for oneself); physical space (a room, a desk, a portable table that you can erect when you work); numbers (a word count, page count, episodes in a series); a subject, theme or project; rhythms and rituals within the structure of your day that may determine when you write; relationships like classes or our own writers’ group. These need to be factors that support you, not constrict you. And you need to be in control of how they are used.

Paige then had each of us write down the various containers that we have used in the past, and then to separate them according to those that have worked for us, and those that haven’t. She then asked us to consider how we can use the containers that work for us in a current or upcoming project.

Paige then opened the floor to questions. In her one-on-one coaching, Paige works with each individual to hone in on the difficulties they are experiencing and come up with methods that will work for them. But as the Q&A began, it was clear that many of us hit the same brick walls. The first question was about one of those—procrastination, and its common companion, perfectionism.

Paige enlightened us to the presence in our brains of the amygdala, which the dictionary tells me “plays an important role in motivation and emotional behavior.” Paige explained it as a part of the brain that is looking out for us and wants to protect us. It has been programmed, in large part, by the well-meaning cautions of our parents when we were kids and includes classic phrases such as “don’t risk making a fool of yourself in front of others,” “no-one likes a show-off,” “don’t set your goals too high.”

The amygdala is a fear mechanism and it doesn’t want you to try anything new, in case you fail. So you need to fly below its radar by taking ridiculously tiny steps toward your goal. Things like deciding to just open your PC, or just write one sentence. Although it doesn’t seem like it, such small steps are very powerful, Paige says. Be kind to your amygdala and coach it to acknowledge that the small steps that you have taken haven’t caused any harm.

If you would like to learn more about the amygdala, and how to trick it, Paige recommends a book called, One Small Step Can Change Your Life by Robert Maurer. A number of participants immediately ordered it.

Another question dealt with being overwhelmed, particularly regarding the amount of content for a non-fiction book. Crucially, Paige reminded us that creativity is about having fun. Since the logical approach of creating an outline and following it wasn’t helping the writer format her work, Paige advised handling the problem intuitively instead, by starting with whatever part of the information was fun for her and teasing out that thread first, and to then keep pulling on various threads that bring the writer joy. Paige cautioned that the writer may have to do that a dozen times or more, but that in doing so, the shape of the work would come to her. Meanwhile, she will have made progress on the content of each section.

The next question was how to face non-fun aspects, particularly those encountered when writing memoir. Paige advised confronting those topics as the person you are now—a different person to the one who went through those difficult experiences and came out the other side. For help with that, Paige recommended a book called Presence, by Amy Cuddy.

A final question asked Paige to reveal some of the techniques her clients have used to spur ideas. She told us about a visual artist who removed all their clothes in order to gain a fresh and closer view of their work, and one who turned their painting upside down to do that. She also mentioned someone who, in order to bridge the generational gap between her and her niece, proposed that they write letters to each other as if they were ladies living in the 18th century.

Alongside the one-on-one coaching, Paige offers a range of creative activities via her website (Home | Whole Self Creative). She runs a free, online co-creation session each week, online visual journaling classes, and from September, a group coaching session. You might also like to check out her Instagram page—you know, just a little thing you can do that won’t worry your amygdala.

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A video of the day’s workshop is due to be posted to YouTube soon.

Books set in Kyoto

Structures of Kyoto: Writers in Kyoto Anthology 4

On sale now from Amazon.comAmazon.co.jp and other Amazon marketplaces in print and Kindle formats.


Edited by Rebecca Otowa and Karen Lee Tawarayama 
Foreword by Judith Clancy

Structures of Kyoto explores the physical, spiritual, and artistic elements of Japan’s ancient capital and beckons one to “step through the gate” to interact with them.

Bookended by the insights of authors Judith Clancy (Exploring Kyoto) and Alex Kerr (Finding the Heart Sutra), readers will find themselves amidst temple gardens and gates, within a tea ceremony and a calligraphy class, observing a children’s boat regatta, and amongst writers channeling their muse in literary cafes. The spirits of the city — ancestors, ghosts, supernatural creatures, and benevolent deities — also have their place.

From Ryoanji Temple in the west to Mount Daimonji in the east, and from Sanzenin Temple in the north to Fushimi Inari Shrine in the south, established authors, upcoming writers, and featured artists will transport you to the cultural heart of Japan with their non-fiction, fiction, prose, poetry, and images, which together paint a stunning and informative portrait of the world’s favorite city.

Contents

  • Structures of Kyoto    From the Editors
  • Foreword    Judith Clancy
  • Map of Kyoto

Introductory

  • What Does This Say, Sensei?    Rona Conti
  • Interlude: Kyoto    Brenda Yates 
    (3rd Prize, WiK Writing Competition 2020)

Part I

  • Rocks, Gravel, and a Bit of Moss    Mark Hovane
  • Sparrow Steps    Amanda Huggins
    (2nd Prize, WiK Writing Competition 2020)
  • Structures of Tea    Rebecca Otowa
  • The River    Felicity Tillack
  • The Streets of Miyako    Mike Freiling
  • Three Literary Cafes    John Dougill
  • Sunrise Over the Kamogawa    Ina Sanjana
    (2nd Prize, WiK Writing Competition 2019)
  • The Life Dispensary    Karen Lee Tawarayama
  • Converging Waters (Kamogawa Delta Blues)    Robert Weis

Kyukei 休憩

  • The Magic of the Training Structures of Zen and Kyoto    Reggie Pawle

Part II

  • December    Lauren E. Walker
    (1st Prize, WiK Writing Competition 2020)
  • Ohara, After Scarlet Leaves    Edward J. Taylor
  • Beyond Zen — Kyoto’s Gorinto Connections    Jann Williams
  • Okuribi    Lisa Wilcut
    (1st Prize, WiK Writing Competition 2019)
  • One Dog Day in Summer    Simon Rowe
  • The Gion Festival — A Hero’s Journey    Catherine Pawasarat
  • The Gate    John Einarsen
  • A Kyoto Ceramic Dynasty: Kiyomizu Rokubey Eight Generations    Robert Yellin
  • Sanjusangen-do, Reinterpreted    Ken Rodgers
  • Yurei Ame / Ghost Candy    Marianne Kimura
    (3rd Prize, WiK Writing Competition 2019)

Afterword

  • A New Philosophy of Tourism    Alex Kerr
  • Illustrators and Image Makers: Acknowledgements
  • Image Captions

Reviews

Structures of Kyoto, Interrogated — by Patrick McCoy , for Kyoto Journal’s 100 Views of Kyoto

Structures of Kyoto: Rediscover the Old Capital Through Vibrant Stories, Essays, and Poems — by Lisandra Moor, for Tokyo Weekender

Structures of Kyoto (WiK Anthology 4) Review by Irish Author Jean Pasley

Related Videos/Links

To hear the contributing authors speaking about their pieces in the anthology, please see the videos here and here.

For an interview of co-editors Rebecca Otowa and Karen Lee Tawarayama, please click here.

Writings about Kyoto, whether by Japanese or foreign observers

Cheerful Bones

by Lisa Twaronite Sone

The man must have been hiking alone in the mountains when he keeled over dead.

A group of university students came upon him — the wholesome, outdoorsy type of youths who would have certainly called for help immediately if the man had shown any signs of life. But no, he was already stiff.

One boy pulled out his cell phone, thinking they should report finding a dead body. But another said, “Wait.”

As it turned out, the second boy was the son of a forensic zoologist, so he was no stranger to dead things: he had spent many happy hours of his childhood experimenting on animal carcasses, and he recognized a long-awaited opportunity to try his skills on a human.

“He’s so small and old! Look, his clothes are old, too — he was obviously just a homeless guy living in the woods, so no one will even miss him,” he assured his friends, with a twinkle in his eye. Some of them were initially uneasy with the whole scheme, but their friend’s confidence and his obvious pleasure in what lay ahead overcame their doubts.

Instead of calling the authorities, the boys hid the man in the underbrush, and returned later under cover of darkness to retrieve him in a big sports duffle bag. They laughed nervously every time they dropped him in their careless enthusiasm, but he was long past the point of feeling any earthly pain, so what did it matter?

When they got back to their dormitory, they told all of the other residents about the plan. The zoologist’s son quickly had everyone convinced of its merits, and sworn to secrecy.

First, the boys bought some thick plastic tarps at the home center. They wrapped the man in them, and buried him in a shallow grave in the dirt crawl space under their old wooden dorm. Then they ordered some dermestid beetles online, and released them to do their work.

For a while, they couldn’t quite ignore the funny smell in that corner of the building, but really, it was no worse than the stench of their ripest socks.

A few of the boys felt twinges of guilt in the weeks that followed, whenever they saw the news about the missing person; the man who lay beneath them hadn’t been homeless after all, but was in fact a family’s beloved grandfather. What could they do, though? They had all taken a solemn vow to never tell anyone about their plan, and a promise was a promise.

Besides, they all knew it was far too late to contact the authorities. It would be too hard to explain everything, and they were all complicit now. They rationalized that the man was already dead, so returning his body wouldn’t bring him back to life, right? His family would still have to cope with their loss just the same.

A few months later, when the odor had completely faded away, the zoologist’s son dug up the man and carefully boiled him, piece by piece, in peroxide. When everything was finally ready, he staged a dramatic unveiling, pulling back a bedsheet: Ta da! Their dorm now had its very own set of human bones! Even the initial doubters among them had to admit that the man looked pretty damn amazing in their entrance hall.

A fluffy Santa hat covered the man’s skull at Christmas time, but the rest of the year he sported a jaunty baseball cap and a tee-shirt with their university’s logo. New residents of the dorm would henceforth be required to kiss his lipless, toothy smile as a drunken initiation rite.

Couples posed for photos in front of him, his bony arm draped across the shoulders of cringing girls, whose boyfriends hugged them tight to comfort them and whispered that they had nothing to fear from a friendly old skeleton.

Over the years, dorm life took its toll on the man. No one could ever get rid of those red wine stains on his pelvis, and some of his ribs had to be glued back together after a wanna-be musician tried to use them as a xylophone.

The man eventually lost bits of his fingers and toes, as graduating seniors surreptitiously hacked off a knuckle as a souvenir to take on their journeys into the adult world — like a lucky rabbit’s foot, or the relics of saints inside Catholic altars.

Which is a better fate for your bones: to be surrounded by the silent dignity of dust, or the cheerful chaos of life and laughter?

It doesn’t matter what we choose, because it’s not up to us, anyway.

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To learn more about Lisa, check out this interview with her.

Writings about Kyoto, whether by Japanese or foreign observers

Circling the Mountain

by Edward J. Taylor

We arise at 1:00 am, behind a man who has trekked Hiei-zan’s 40 kilometer Kaihōgyō over a thousand times before. After a quick prayer at Konpon-chu-dỏ, we suddenly move along the paths at a surprisingly quick pace. The rain has cleared but the clouds keep everything below the knees in darkness. I am carrying a small flashlight, but after the first initial descent down a long flight of stone steps wet with rain, I decide to trust my footing, rely on instinct.

I had wanted to take part in the Kaihōgyō for about a decade, after reading about the Marathon Monks of Mt. Hiei in John Stevens’ classic book. The practice united two themes that had been important cornerstones of my life in Japan: mountaineering and a physically-challenging spiritual practice, both of which draw upon the reserves of what in Japanese is known as jiriki, ones own inner strength.

As this is a pilgrimage, I channel Thich Nhat Hanh, peace and mindfulness in every step. I do slip a few times, mainly snagging my feet on tree roots. Even those with lights slip occasionally, firing a kaleidoscope of flashlight beams into the trees. A lot of these pilgrims are past middle age, and as I watch them slip, I begin to see the nature of broken hips: of the shock at the sudden loss of balance and the quick, jerky, unconscious thrust of a leg to stop the fall. The only one of us with sure footing is the monk’s dog, which dashes along the trail, appearing and disappearing into the dark.

During our walk, we stop to pray at various spots that our guide has long ago memorized. Many are temples, some are statues, but most are simply trees or stones, signifying that this pilgrimage goes back to more animistic times. The prayers last only a few seconds–a rustle of beads, a few muttered words, then we’re off again. We walk on, along the ridges, the lights of Kyoto far below us, but above the heads of people sanely sleeping away the muggy mid-summer night. Up here, the man-made concepts of time and distance mean nothing. We will finish this hike when it was finished. I like the idea of this, of doing a task for its own sake. I am beginning to envy the monks, passing a life this way for seven years. But then it hits me. Isn’t their training, as amazing as it is, merely a long, deluded attachment to the completion of it?

We have a long tea break in the far western part of the mountain, then the sixty of us commence our descent east toward Lake Biwa. The sun begins to rise now, finally offering a clue as to the chronological time. In the dull blue light, I think that lakeside Shiga looks a little like Hong Kong.

It’s full dawn when we reach Hiyoshi Taisha and the base of the mountain. We take a long break at a nearby temple for more tea and onigiri. We’ve lost quite a few people on the way, but I am surprised to see one woman in her 70s who I’d met on the bus. I chat with a smiling, almost Gollum-like 85-year-old sitting beside me. I wonder how they’ll fare next, on an almost vertical fourteen kilometer climb back up to the temple.

Six hours after we set off, I am among the first to arrive back at Enryaku-ji. There are only about fifteen people present for the closing prayers. I have no idea whether the rest were still behind or had given up and are snoring comfortably in their hotel beds. Not a bad idea, I think, so after a long bath I return to my room, and seek out emptiness in sleep.

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For more by Edward J. Taylor, please check out this travel piece along Korea’s east coast, or this account of the Hoshi Matsuri, or this personal account of Japan’s hosting of the World Cup, or this article on visiting Cuba, or this lighthearted look at walking along the Kamogawa.

Writings about Kyoto, whether by Japanese or foreign observers

Mind games in Arashiyama

by Robert Weis

«Playin’ those mind games…»

John Lennon’s soundtrack rhythms my steps as I move like a ghost from Saga Arashiyama station towards the silhouette of the western hills. My physical persona has arrived in Japan the very same morning, on an overseas flight from Amsterdam to Kansai airport. My conscious mind has yet to follow though – so I look at myself as a stranger, a dazed vagabond approaching Kyoto for the first time, with the eyes of an explorer.

Starting my stay-over in Kyoto at the Arashiyama neighbourhood has been a well-established ritual for several years now; a simple beer and yakisoba lunch along the shaded western river banks, followed by a matcha green tea at Okochi Sanso garden. From there, at the top of the hill, the view extends to a mountain temple on the other side of the valley.

Daihikaku Senko-ji is a somewhat hidden spot, which I reach by walking along the river into the mountains, occasionally soaking my feet in the clear waters, here where the city and the mountains interlace and the reign of the kami begins. The stillness of the forest is only occasionally interrupted by the Romantic Saga train running towards Kameoka and the temple bell echoing in the forest. And then, suddenly again, that song in my head: “So keep on playing those mind games together, faith in the future, out of the now…”.

Following the notes like a dream, I let myself drift with the stream and when I reach Togetsu Bridge I cross the path back to the here and now. It is with a renewed presence, similar to the clear waters, that I travel downtown. There I have friendship, shelter, and the full range of earthly pleasures this city has to offer awaiting me. And still, I know that my place isn’t yet there:
“We’re playing those mind games forever / Projecting our images in space and in time.”

My home for this time, I know, is Pension Mind Games.

Photos by Robert Weis

Authors who belong to Writers in Kyoto

A Mancunian in Japan

On Compromise: A Mancunian in Japan
by Andrew Innes

“Could you try to sound a bit more American?”

They say that a fish in water has no idea what water is. Likewise, we could surely say the same thing about people and accents. We only really become aware that we have one when we find ourselves on dry land. Having lived in Japan for almost twenty years, I’m sure that I’ve unconsciously modified the way I speak to some extent, but have always felt it important not to compromise too much. Brows furrow and heads cock to the side if I ask students, “How’s it goin’?”, but shoulders relax and faces are lit up with smiles if I meet them in the middle and ask the more textbook, “How are you?” The phenomenon isn’t even limited to non-native speakers; years ago, a Kiwi colleague was adamant that the word ‘Alright’ didn’t constitute a greeting. I begged to differ.

“If the students want American English, we should give them what they want.”

Personally speaking, I’ve always been terrified that the way I speak might have become watered down and become the butt of jokes upon my return to the UK. I now say soccer instead of football when in class, and the word dinner when I formally said tea. Hopefully, that’s about as far as it goes, and it won’t get me raked over the coals or burned at the stake for being a witch the next time I’m back.

“I think that American English is the world standard. That’s what I want to learn.”

In one of my previous incarnations as a foreigner-for-hire, the kids got a sweet after their class. In my own classes at a Buddhist temple in the countryside, I preferred to give them a sticker, but we won’t get into the reasons for eschewing the former. Okay then — bribery through sugar, the slippery slope to harder substances, diminishing returns, a sense of entitlement, shifting the focus from extrinsic to intrinsic motivation, tooth decay.

Permission to have a sweet was contingent upon the young students making the specific request, “May I have a candy?” to which we were to respond, “Yes, you may.” Coming from Manchester, this grated a bit like a cheese grater grating a sunburnt back. So, sticking to my guns, I got the students to ask, “Can I have a sweet, please?” Although slightly less sunny than the prescribed phrasing, the concept of sunshine doesn’t really exist in Manchester. The kids, baffled somewhat that I’d structured the question in a way that deviated from the norm, would nonetheless perk up upon receipt of their treat and go about their day with an extra spring in their step. I don’t think the boss liked me corrupting young minds and smashing the system in such a way, but I saw it as an opportunity to teach them about language diversity and environmental determinism. That’s my excuse anyway.

“American English is easy to understand.”

We often hear words like diversity and inclusion these days. Who doesn’t want to get on board with that? Yet many teaching materials still seem premised on the notion that English is spoken the same the world over. Exposing English learners to the myriad ways that it is used can only be a good thing, even if it does cause a degree of confusion. Of course, it would simplify things if we all used the same accent, words, and pronunciation, and there were no such things as dialects, but unfortunately, that isn’t the way things work in the real world.

The message being sent out to English learners is that there exists a standard, correct way of speaking, and deviating from it is to be avoided. Taken to the extreme, this can result in being delegitimized or falling into the category of ‘non-standard’. We only need go as far back as the Oakland School Board ruling of 1996 to see the importance of fighting for what you believe in. As the Yiddish scholar, Max Weinreich puts it, “A language is a dialect with an army and navy.” Put another way, that which is considered the norm is merely that which is legitimized by the powerful group in a society.

“So go on. How can I sound more American?”

Well, I’m not sure. American English?”

“Okay, but which American English in particular? New York? Boston? DC? A Texan drawl, perhaps? Besides, I’m not sure I’d be able to nail the alveolar flap, which turns butter into budder. Or the retroflex approximant, which produces that strong rhotic R out of thin eə(r). But then again, surely that wouldn’t apply if I were using a New York or Boston accent, would it? You’d need to be more specific. And what about herbs? Would I have to say ‘erbs, or could I have my ‘erbs with a side order of h? Could I say that I’d just come back from a holiday on the continent? Or would I have to employ the glottal stop to say that I’d just vacationed on the ‘kɑ:nʔɪnənt’? And then we get into vocabulary. Of course, I could remember to say that I’d seen a guy jaywalking from one sidewalk to another, but I might forget to add that he’d been wearing pants and let slip that he’d had on a pair of trousers. You see, it really is a minefield.”

“Now you’re just being facetious.”

This wasn’t how the conversation went. It was almost nineteen years ago. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. It probably went something like this:

“Could you try to sound a bit more American?”

“Hmm.”

Sometimes it’s best to appease those around you by appearing to give them what they want. That way, you get to stay true to yourself, and they get that lovely feeling of self-satisfaction they’re after — no matter how hollow their victory might be.

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Andrew teaches at three universities in Japan. He is a short story writer and author of the forthcoming book, The Short Story Collective.

Writers in focus

Nervous Nun Limericks

The following limericks are selected from a collection entitled 101 Nervous Nun Limericks by shakuhachi maestro, Preston Keido Houser. These follow his love limericks from a monk’s perspective.

The verses are much in the spirit of koans and Zen humour, lighthearted yet hinting at something deeper. They also have a deliberately irregular syllable pattern from the conventional limerick, because, in the words of the author, they are meant ‘to challenge the reader’.

*****************

There once was a nun from paradise
Who sought enlightenment at any price.
Yet for all her acuity
She was unable to see
The water that hides in the ice.

*****************

There once was a nun from Koblentz
Who spoke up in heaven’s defense.
‘For all the pejoratives
Hurled at hell’s narratives,
In the end all life makes sense.’

*****************

There once was a nun from Whitstable
Whose sultry allure was irresistible.
‘Though many monks seek my hand
One principle they don”t understand:
The sexual is simply transitional.’

******************

There once was a nun most dejected
When she detected her teaching was rejected.
‘It seems I spoke too soon,
For what I thought was the moon
Turned out to be sunlight reflected.’

*******************

There once was a nun from Wye
Whose husband made her hue and cry.
‘For all the expectations,
Frustrations, and jubilations,
I still can’t believe I married this guy!’

*********************

There once was a nun from Botany Bay
Who tried to console a family facing doomsday.
‘I know the news is bad,
But please don’t be sad,
Even if it’s not okay it’s gonna be okay.’

*********************

There once was a nun from Cherokee Nation
Who pondered the XR situation.
‘Despite environmental calamity,
Is the purpose of humanity
To make the world safe for annihilation?’

*******************

As well as performing at WiK events, Preston has produced a stream of poetry in the Villanelle form. For other verse by Preston, please see his Improv Poesy or for a selection of four poems, click here. To hear him talk about shakuhachi and Zen, or to hear him play, please listen to the following podcast: https://www.ancientdragon.org/podcast-library/

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