Golden Week

(I am trying to find the best soundtrack against which to write this, but nothing fits my mood right now…and too often in the past I have sat down with the aim to write on a certain topic, but the music I listened to changed my mood and I never wrote what I had planned to. Thus, I am writing this against a background of silence with my noise-canceling headphones on, and nothing but faint car engine sounds from the street outside, the echoes of a heartbeat as blood pounds in my ears, and the plastic clacking of my keyboard as I try to turn emotion into words…)

The space bar ticks away like a clock...

I never made any plans for Golden Week. At first I had wanted to go to Kyoto, but since it's one of the most popular destinations during this holiday, it would be way too crowded and I probably wouldn't enjoy it as much as I could if I went some other time. Besides, I've done a staggering amount of sightseeing and exploring since coming to Japan and both my mind and body are really quite exhausted from all the new stimulation and experiences. If I decided to go on any more trips before sitting down and processing everything, it would all just be a blur and I would experience it all through only half-aware senses, like ordering a rich dessert after you've already stuffed your stomach to the limits - you just don't appreciate the dessert's value unless you wait and digest for a little while. So after one more excursion to Yokohama with some friends on the first Saturday of Golden Week, I decided not to go out until I had resolved some inner issues. Even on Sunday I woke up to get ready for Life Group and a day of church, but I felt in my heart that it would just be more busyness, and I didn't need any more of that; God wanted me to stay home and spend some time with Him. So I did.

At first I decided to use this free time to catch up on all of my homework and readings for class and knock out my first paper assignment so later on I wouldn't be as rushed, so I read one story for my Modern Japanese Fiction class, stretched out on my futon, the pages of the story spread over the floor in front of me. The story was supposed to be an example of a shift in the style of Japanese literature from the more traditional Romanticism to modern Naturalism. It was about an impoverished maid who decided to hang herself when she found out her lazy husband had stolen a bag of charcoal from a store and she knew they would be found out. The story had no emotion, the narrator completely stoic and unfeeling, only stating exactly what happened without any commentary upon events. It left me depressed - I don't like literature like that - so after jotting down a few notes on my reaction to the story, I took my laptop to the dining room and checked my email - hoping there would be enough facebook updates to give me a fix to ease my sadness. There were some, but as always it never quenched my thirst for heart-to-heart interaction.

And so far this writing isn't either….

So much of this break I've just been lying around thinking, trying to be productive, but usually staying up late into the night and sleeping in late into the day too entranced with my dreams to want to come back to reality…my dreams have been so vivid here, and even though I don't remember every piece of story that they held, there's little moments and flashes of them that stick with me. I always remember how my dreams make me feel. And they've been powerful lately…like they're a deeper reality than the waking world.

I read The Little Prince this week. It was great…short enough to read in one sitting, but it was packed full of great symbolism and meaning. I want to write things like this - entertaining but didactic.

I've been trying to orient myself in the last few days…not worrying about homework or any schedules or anything - just centering myself and remembering who I am and what I'm all about...

I have dreams…but I don't know exactly what they are or how to explain them…all I know is that inside of me grows something big, something deep…I know its dimensions, but I don't know its nature…it's too abstract to find the right words. My writing is a way of developing these dreams and bringing them into this world.

Through all of these flashes of thoughts I am well aware of how weird I may seem to those who read this…and to you I really don't have much to say in way of defense. I am who I am, and when I write, I want to write from my heart. I will never apologize for what comes out of my heart, for if I ever did, then I would be rejecting what makes me ME, and such a thing would be unforgivable. My entire life I have wrestled within my heart to try to understand what comes out of it. As a kid I let my heart dream freely…gave it free reign like a kite with no one holding the string. Then as I grew older and I became more aware of the larger world around me, I began to chastise my heart, pulling it down from the sky, and tried to control what it felt and did…but that only brought pain and depression. Through this long struggle I have decided that a life lived in slavery to rules is no life at all…there is no freedom there. And at the same time a life lived in complete surrender to selfish desire is fruitless and only leads to pain and death not only for myself but for others. The way in between is difficult to find - a place where you are true to yourself, but being aware that you share the world with other hearts and each action you take sends ripples through life that touch others.

Though I am a loner, I am not alone…it is true that no man is an island. Even though I withdraw from everyone else to meditate on life, I cannot remain like this; I must go out. Otherwise my heart becomes stagnant and dull. Thus communication with others is essential, and to me art is the essence of communication. Now, by communication I don't just mean talking or explaining something verbally. Although I know we can't always have deep conversations, I really get no satisfaction out of small talk. It has it's place and all, but after hanging out with people who only ever talk about inconsequential things, I always go away hungry for more.

One of my frustrations with hanging out with people here in Japan is that people just want to go do something entertaining…something that grabs your attention and drills pleasure into your senses, then releases you to go home.  I don't want to just go through my life being entertained for the moment…I want something more everlasting…I want the substance of life! I haven't met many people who follow this wavelength, or if they do, they don't talk about it…and so that is what I wander around on my own looking for...

I love traveling because everywhere I go and everything I see reveals more of the mystery of life that I dream about. I find it in short bursts of light and color…like a chance locking of eyes with a stranger coupled with a shy smile, then rushing on through the anonymous city…or the way the sun hits a little waterway snaking between concrete buildings at just the right angle to transform it from a nasty off-green color to a glittering of sparkling diamonds splattering everywhere…or when the wind blows through the train station just perfectly so the lady strutting in high heels in the opposite direction as you, completely consumed in her cell phone text message, looks like a model on a runway, her amber hair swirling behind her in a dance. There are so many moments like these that I see…and they only last for a second, then float away forever. I try to capture them in writing by carrying around a small notepad with me and jotting down notes as soon as I can…but beauty can never be completely captured…that's its nature…it's wild and free…no words could ever retell its true essence perfectly. I think that's what haunts most artists…never being able to truly communicate what they see with their heart. But they still manage to create masterpieces that touch just that spot in others to give them a glimpse of the beauty that the artist saw.

That is the art I want to create...