one day, a tennis ball rolled into the gutter.

normally, this wouldn't be a big deal.  but on this particular day, it was, because the older brother's special friend was over, and they were playing some sort of game that required a tennis ball, and that was the last ball that they had.  so, the older brother found a pick axe in a corner of the garage, and, slung over his shoulder, made his way to the lid of the manhole cover nearest to the gutter.  it had a series of concentric circles, and on one of the larger circles was a small hole, a little less than a golf ball.  the older brother put the sharp end of the pickaxe into the hole, and wedged it at an angle.  then, he leaned his weight on the wooden handle to lift the manhole cover out.

he'd seen his father do it before, once, when something precious had fallen in.  he'd forgotten what it was, but he'd remembered how to do it.  with a grating sound that reverberated and came back at them from the mouth of the gutter, the lid shifted, tilted, and scraped its way out of its housing.  displaced, a hole into darkness opened.  the sunlight painted the first rung a burnt orange color.

the older brother had never gone down into the dark place below.  that one time before, the older brother had just sat back and watched as his father disappeared into the cobwebby darkness, to emerge a few moments later, dirtier and sweatier.  looking at the hole now, and standing beside his friend (who was, truth to tell, cooler than he was, and whose respect and approval was worth more than money at his middle school), the older brother was not about to jump in the hole himself, and risk betraying an ounce of dread or hesitation.  in fact, it had never been his intention to go down himself.

the younger brother was sitting and playing in a dirty corner of a nearby planted section of the sidewalk.  the younger brother was perhaps five years old (it was hard to remember the runt's existence, much less the date of his unwanted birth).  the older brother sauntered up to the planter box, the pickaxe slung over his shoulder, the special friend in tow, and purposefully stepped in the hill of dirt that the younger boy had apparently created.  a cloud of red dust rose up.  the younger brother looked up.  not angry.  just intent.

"hey runt," said the older brother.  "i need a favor."  he said the word "favor" in two distinct syllables, the first rising and supportive in tone, and the second dropping away suddenly.  the older brother glanced at his special friend, and the edge of his mouth curved upwards ever-so-slightly.

the younger brother nodded, smiled nervously.  he rose wordlessly, and, wordlessly, followed his older brother and the friend to the open hole in the pavement.

"our tennis ball," said the older brother.  "i want you to fetch it, and throw it out."  just as the younger brother, gazing at the hole, was about to nod, the older brother continued.  "i don't want you to bring me the ball," he said, "because you won't be able to grab the ladder with both hands if you try to come out.  i want you to find the ball, and throw it out.  got it?"

the younger brother nodded, smiled eagerly.

it was rare that his older brother ever even acknowledged his presence.  to be given an important task, and a relatively simple one at that, well, it seemed almost too good to be true.

visitation

a couple of days ago (perhaps it was christmas?), there was a large moth that fluttered against our glass door.  not too long afterwards, there were two.  i have, of late, come to consider the moths as good omens, as visitations by dearly departed spirits.  i have, of late, imagined them as visitations by my grandma (ewa beach), and perhaps others.

***

i'm being asked to call someone.  but i'm tired, and i don't trust myself.  i am by nature so forgiving.  i say things to ameliorate and make things all better.  it's in my nature.  some times i put so many band aid words over wounds that you would assume that nothing was wrong.  but i'm not ready to say "it's okay."

meanwhile, i want to help my parents...  but i'm not sure how, and i think it will destroy my already strained capabilities in the process anyway.

people around me judging me, buzzing like flies.  i find it funny, if it weren't so damned annoying.  i am not a real person to most of the world anyway.  the concerns of ghosts are not of concern to the "real world."  we don't have real feelings.  we aren't solid.  we just repeat our duties to the living, right?

***

the moth is a symbol of multiple interpretations.  i imagine moths symbolize the spirits of the dead, in that they are nocturnal creatures drawn to the light and heat of the living.  the moth also symbolizes transformation (in a way that butterflies do, but in a perhaps less positivistic happy-happy way).  i used this interpretation in a story called "moth-eaten", representing my "moth-eaten" robes as a soul half-eaten by rapacious desires, and the inability to choose between purity and lust/love.  mothra, from the godzilla movies, meanwhile, is supposed to be a god of happiness...

   THE SECOND COMING
    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.
    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

this is the poem i was referring to in an earlier post.  far darker than the line i like to steal from it.  the initial line also has resonance, as for a long time (high school and afterwards), i associated myself with a falcon, out of touch with the world.

i think the poem can definitely be read to reflect current politics, especially the lines, "the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity."

christmas

merry christmas, whoever you are.  i wish you well: peace, health, happiness, love.

***

we had a nice christmas this year.  i spent some of christmas eve working at my parents' house, deconstructing a bed, cleaning out both of my nieces' rooms, and putting up a god-awful fuchsia curtain.  for the evening, we went out with my wife's friend's family to eat dinner at an izakaya place called gazen.  i thought it was great, and enjoyed most everything offered, from the mochi-cheese wraps to the oxtail to the freshly made tofus.  lynn was a bit more critical, saying that the consistency of the tofus was a bit too watery for her tastes.  the kids ate up.  after gazen, we stopped by a friend's place to drop off presents (during which time, willow's fancy shoes separated at the sole), and got pulled a bit into some of the domestic drama there.  we left, not entirely ameliorating things, but hopefully offering a bit of perspective to the issues, and joined my wife's friend's family again over at the honolulu city lights.  it's kind of a tradition for our family to view the christmas lights on christmas eve.

late that night (or early this morning), "santa" came and set up all the stocking presents.  thankfully, not another creature was stirring...

then, the kids woke up at a god-awful 5:00, and i reluctantly dragged myself out of bed to feign "excitement" and "wonder" as presents were opened.  don't get me wrong, i'm not a scrooge...  but it was a terribly late night for me.

we went over to the oceans restaurant over at the outrigger, and had perhaps the most pleasant breakfast brunch we've ever had, with aunty joan and uncle ferman, gazing out over an overcast and slightly chilly beach...  the rest of the day after that was pretty nondescript, with frequent naps, held beneath the din of the kids' videogames and tv shows...

***

there is a poem by yeats that has the line, "the centre cannot hold."  i thought about it tonight.

there are issues in my family that require attention.  my mother calls me regularly now, requesting this or that kind of assistance, but in general, wanting me to be more involved.  she is particularly worried for my father.  while i have been going to their house to treat him now and then, and while the shingles pain has been reduced to a feeling of mild persistent itching, it seems that my father still exhibits symptoms which worry my mother: a general fatigue, and irritability, as well as an instability when walking.

my mother wants me to take my father out.

let me tell you something about my father.  he is a very active, helpful person, but he is not sociable, and delivers most of his commentary in opaque japanese.  ...  more later (i'm feeling tired)

there is a vision i have (and which i’ve had before) of a heart surrounded by a wall of metal knives.  it is this wall which prevents any sort of intimacy, socialization, or “stopping”...  because the wall maintains a person on a sort of quest of obligation, whether it be protecting others (usually, it is this), or avenging others.  in fact, the entire vengeance plot-line is an accurate representation of the metal element theme.  a loss occurs, and in the face of that loss, an individual stretches his or her entire existence upon redemption and vengeance, forsaking the normalcy of warm social relations.

in the fairy tale, the frog prince (the brothers grimm version), there is this odd reference to a character, i believe his name was iron henry, who was a friend of the prince.  while driving a carriage carrying his friend the prince to his marriage, there is a sound of groaning metal.  when asked what the sound was, iron henry admits that it was the sound of metal bands breaking from around his heart...

***

requisite "skills"

i have been thinking about the five elements again.  although this is not official, i do believe that each of the five elements is associated with a requisite skill or talent (i'm not sure what the best term is).  i think of these with regards to an organization.  but to a certain extent, all of these roles are ideally incorporated within an individual.

metal--> cleanliness (both "physical" and moral)
earth--> order, organization
wood--> assertiveness?  planning?
fire--> warmth?  comfort?
water--> resource management, logistics

when one role breaks down, then the others get burdened, or overburdened, and eventually, they will break down as well.  the key perhaps is developing the one role that is easiest, and working from there to restore the functioning of the organism/organization.

***

it's been a bit tiring the past few days.  my wife has been enduring a very painful recovery from a back injury.  i try to help her in various ways.  meanwhile, due to the consistently bad weather, the kids are cooped up inside, and i guess feeling a bit stir crazy.  i've been trying to have them do activities with their cousins; like yesterday, each of the kids decorated a section of a gingerbread house, and then i put it all together...

i suppose i'm on edge for a few reasons.  i guess i've been teetering on the edge of being irritable and just saying f it to a lot of things and people on the one hand, and just maintaining a kind of openness with regards to things.  this anger about circumstances is sort of like a fulcrum point; it pretends movement, but in the end, it is fixed to the ground.  i want to break away from it, and move on to bigger and better things.  a more open sky.

***

i've thought a bit more about the metal element.  its virtue is righteousness.  when a person inauthentically manifests this virtue, then in his mind and heart, he considers profit and loss.  in true righteousness, there is a sense of the will of heaven- and nothing else.  it is in this sense that "righteousness" corresponds to the central irony of the metal element, i.e. that that which is of most value is also the least substantial.  true righteousness does not deal with the realm of the substantial, material, and tangible- i.e. profit and loss.  it simply knows and obeys what is right.

there is a story of an emperor who approached a zen monk.  the emperor said, "i have built many countless stupas and temples, and donated great sums of money to the monasteries.  what merit will i have attained from the buddha?"  to which the monk replied (in essence), "nothing at all."

we don't do things to attain a reward, or to avoid a punishment.  we do things because they are right.  righteousness, in this sense, is empty.  it is empty of a reason.  it is empty of a motive.

***

acknowledgement and respect- these are compensatory factors for a person who does not trust in his own inherent righteousness.  if a person follows the will of heaven, then there is no need for the acknowledgement or respect of others.  a person just does what is right.

the western mind sees a trap in such thinking: i.e., you are becoming a solipsist, and eclipsing the world outside.  that isn't true.  i think that a person who is righteous (not in the pejorative sense) is open to and grounded in reality, but who opts to always do what heaven (i.e. "objectively") mandates is right...