5:00

this morning, i had an odd dream... in the first segment (the first that i can remember), i was in some sort of garage, an open-air sort of garage, like the kind automechanics have. across the way, beyond some kind of accordion metal gate, was another garage, where some rock band was playing. there were a bunch of people in the garage i was in, and some of them were muttering complaints about how the band shouldn't be playing so loud, or something to that effect... in any case, i walked out of that plotline casually, in the way that you can only in dreams, and then found myself in another garage, only it was a personal garage, at someone's home. this garage was largely dominated by two large vehicles, sliced open to expose only the bottom half. i say they were vehicles, because they were in the garage, but in actuality, they were simply open rusty receptacles, with no identifiable parts, especially nowhere to sit, nowhere to drive, etc. i was talking to some filipino woman, a mother, and it seemed as though i were trying to convince her of something, perhaps sell her something. in any case, at one point, she mentioned something like, "what a work of art," and when i looked up to see what she was talking about, my eyes drifted over her two daughters, who just magically appeared out of nowhere. the daughters were naked, and i noticed, in my quick averting glance, that one was just pubescent, and both had intricate tattoos on their arms and upper back. when i turned back to the woman, i noticed that she too was naked. my eyes drifted over to the metal vehicles, and i discovered that in the empty shells, there was water, and varieties of fish swimming in different sections. i noticed in one section, there were large goldfish, with brilliant phosphorescent orange heads the size and texture of real oranges...

i reappeared in the old open air garage. this time, the rock star, the head guitarist of the band i had seen across the way, was walking into our garage. i recall wanting to say something to him, to say how cool i thought he was, but shyness and reticence prevented me. next thing i knew, this punky looking girl with short hair and short denim shorts patted the recliner next to her, inviting me to have a seat. i did so, and then she was all over me, mussing up my hair, pushing her small breasts into my face... "which do you like better, sitting on, or being sat on?" i was thoroughly confused, especially in the blur of sensations she was imposing upon me. "both?" i answered, confused. she laughed at that, and i thought for a moment how odd (though not impossible) it was for the male to "sit on" in sexual positions... "come on, it's multiple choice," she continued, "which position do you prefer?" at my hesitation, she said, "i hope, mr. teacher, that your answer's not none of the above." i laughed a bit at that, and came up with what i thought was a clever rejoinder: "yeah, i know how much you like to be on top."

all of a sudden, my hand drifted into view, and i wore upon it my wedding ring. i suddenly realized that there was someone else whom i was sworn to. "i- can't," i muttered sheepishly, gently pushing the girl away. "what?" she said, sounding betrayed. "why not?" "well, for one thing, this," i said, holding up my ringed finger...

and then i woke up...

***

i had a dim thought of inertia and momentum in dreams, and how in some dreams you are not so much a participant as an observer of actions long set into motion by some unseen hand, and in others, you are the center of the dream, turning it as you will. i thought about how the difference between one and the other is a matter of accretion, of accumulation, and perhaps a certain kind of blindness. sight, after all, is strangely but truly an inverse of power and volition. those who look before they leap perhaps never leap at all. and those who leap perhaps reach the other side precisely because they never saw it.

in whose memory do you live?

***

the ties to the past are often also what hold us upright. without their anchors, we are like a shapeless, purposeless piece of canvas, vulnerable to the wind and the elements...

***

the boy must unlock his heart. it tethers him to the bottom of the sea. he must swim into the deep and the darkness, against the nature of the life and buoyancy that almost bursts within him, and find a place to insert the key that was given him...

the boy loses his heart in the darkness. he found it too heavy to carry with him, and so it sits, silent, at the bottom of the sea. he learns that there is a secret way to carry a piece of his heart with him, so that he may pretend to be like the others, so that he can pretend to be human. the secret was hinted at in a book by island heritage press that he once read, even before he knew how to read. it was a story about how an old wise man captured the moon by digging a hole in the sand. the hole collected a puddle of seawater, and that puddle held the full reflection of the moon within it... and there was a second story, that of kaguya hime, or rather a portion of that tale. the tale of the second hopeless prince and suitor to the moon princess, he who had to steal a beggar's bowl from beneath the half-closed eyes of a buddhist statue. he failed... the kappa reiterates that the bowl is key. he holds a bowl upon his pate, and it is formed of pennies rusted together... a concatenated string of words and phrases...

e pluribus unum. out of many, one. copper. hemocyanin. blue-blooded... in god we trust...

if you can carry the moon in a bowl, then perhaps you can also hold your heart within it...

the boy learns (from the kappa) the secret of carrying your heart. and he learns the pride and vulnerability of the kappa, that one who carries his dreams in a brimful bowl can never ever bow down...

the third and last lesson of the boy has to do with this very quandary... how it becomes necessary to be an empty bowl... to lose everything to become something.

this is the truth, the full circle truth, of the poem: "the heart is like a stone, tacit and silent. cast it away."

***

i feel such sadness at the passing of things. such infinite sadness. the world is fading before my eyes. i will keep this understanding, this brimful bowl of tears, and continually empty it through humility and bowing, even as it is refilled continually by the tragic rain.

***

i am sorry that i haven't been posting regularly (to the empty reverberating space in this echo chamber of mine). things have been hectic (as usual).

my japan grandmother passed away a week ago today. she had been having back pains, and my dad had told us that he thought she was deteriorating. i visited her with the kids about four or five days before she passed. she was bedridden and in pain, unable to find a comfortable position. i tried what i could to alleviate her pain, through touch and adjusting her pillows. at one point, she put her hand on mine, and i wasn't sure, but i like to think- i'm not sure...

i went over to her place early the next morning, i think it was 3 am or so, and tried to "break in" through the sliding doors. for some reason, they were locked up. it was pretty suspicious, i admit, this young hooligan wandering about in a retirement community, climbing fences and such. and there was this old woman walking her dog at around that time, and at one point, i passed her by. i just admitted to her that i was worried about my grandmother, and for some reason, the answer seemed to fly. at least she didn't call the cops... in any case, i remember sitting in the dark on gravel just outside her window, listening for any sound, praying that she was okay...

the next few days seemed to see improvement in her condition. she was able to get up. the problem at that point was getting her to eat, and to have bms. i assumed that everything was on, if not the right track, then at least a better one. my dad was going to her place about five times a day, and notifying us that he thought we didn't need to have her move in with anyone...

then on tuesday, it happened. i got the call after a particularly miserable day at work. i felt like something dropped, and left a hollow ringing space in me. i raced over to her place, with kids in tow. a fire truck, ambulance, and a couple of police cars were already there. i went in, amidst the crowd, and saw a couple of emt workers trying to do cpr on her. to see them pumping her chest, so fragile and white beneath their gloved hands... i felt- i don't know. my mom, as usual, was voicing the emotions for the family, but it was my dad that i sympathized with the most. he was moving around in the background, keeping busy, but whenever he stopped, i could see the sadness in his face... his own mother, last tie to a family fraught with tragedies, and lives cut short.


today, i attended my grandmother's viewing. i still had/have a hard time understanding what i feel. i always think i should feel more, that the sadness should come welling up, and overflowing me. but instead, there is a deadness, a weight, a silence within me that just holds me numb. at the time, i felt a grating frustration at the way my mother handled the whole viewing affair; it felt like some kind of circus or something, with the great grandchildren reluctantly giving pre-written speeches, with people taking pictures with the deceased (so wrong...), and with my grandmother's paintings being given away, as at an auction... ultimately, however, i realize that my mother does what she can, stepping into the void of my father's silence and passivity. this is her way of expressing love and appreciation to my grandmother. my father's way is hidden and solitary...

i approached my grandmother's body awkwardly, especially in the "circus" atmosphere established by my mother. before returning, i said a few clumsy words, staring at some corner of a chair, not knowing who i was supposed to be talking to on such occasions, and why: the deceased? god? this audience? and what was i supposed to be saying, to what end? to get some kind of emotional rise? in any case, i talked about how my grandmother had always been nonjudgmental and unfailingly supportive. it was my grandmother who set up my stay at kannonji temple in hokkaido, after hearing about my interest in zen buddhism. i spoke about her quiet ways. her love of art, of painting, of fine and meticulous work. i recall admiring the way that she helped me pack my things into a box when i was leaving japan, how she folded everything precisely so, tied parcels up, arranging things like a puzzle so that they fit perfectly...

the one good thing about the viewing was that i got to see tomoko and yuuko once again. tomoko is my cousin. she actually was here only a few weeks ago. her departure back to japan seemed to be the trigger causing my japan grandmother's decline. no, i won't go so far as to say that, but... anyway. yuuko is tomoko's mother. they are both kind, bold, intelligent spirits...