The Typhoon Season

Typhoons... Numbered... Almost like kings succeeding the reign of one another... The one happening now, number 15, has attacked the town of my youth, the town where I spent two exciting years full of exploring and discovering. I was envisioning wind surfing for the weekend. But really. Maybe not the best time to fight with the nature. I will be swallowed by it inevitably. Whether it will be the wind or the water, if only I enter the sea, I will be gone, I feel it. I've been avoiding the water ever since what happened happened. Ever since the thread that was connecting me to the reality of life got cut - brutally and without hope. I'll spend the day tomorrow locked in my room like in a shark-viewing glass boat that takes people underwater at glossy resorts. It will be dark and raining. Who knows what creatures will be cutting the raindrops flying through them - birds shall hide... Glossy resorts, I said? Only it's not a resort here, though it once were, when the whole experience of migration felt new, fresh, and meaningful - exactly in connection to the  act of migration. When I remembered the moments - the flight, the moving, the feverish customs, flu-struck body pain... I don't know where I am anymore. And whether where I was is the past or some other time scape? It should not be the past just because I left it behind or that I left from there - to here. It is living its separate life which is parallel to mine. And when I call home, it's the same date and day there (is it?), but why does it feel like I talk to the shadows of the past, not knowing even if they exist anymore in the realm of physical reality? The time is lineal in my culture, but is it really? And is it fair to put behind those people and places that constituted something you did in the past or something you were or something you thought you were? How real are they - those memories? Revisited, reconstructed, reinterpreted, rationalized over and over... It's going to be 10 years soon ever since I touched the ground of this new floating land - the land that used to float in the domains of my desire, but which is floating on its own now - shaken by quakes, soaked by rains, driven mad by unpredictable tides... The waves are not linear anymore either, they are not directed at the shore - to touch the edge of the sandy ground and be gone - they became insane, intermingling with each other, one rushing to the East, another - going around itself in endless rounds, reproducing the forgotten ancient chaos... How long will it take these waves to uproot the reality of mine completely and to make me able to move further - to the lands that are not standing on top of the whales' backs, but have their roots reaching through the crust down to the kingdom of the unbreakable inner core? I feel it coming  - the fatal thrust of resurrecting willpower, ready to throw me to where it will thunder - ready to make where I am a part of what I were and to redo my history forever...

The Way of Death, the Way of Life

My friend An Hwi Mi, a Japan-born Korean artist painted this piece for me, called "The way of death, the way of life". I just fixed it on my wall and wanted to share...

An Hwi Mi's homepage

The Night Walk

The street is lit by the light of the moon - this eternal light that reveals the inner nature of the surrounding things, this light, the cold mildness of which is so predictable and yet unknown, which is forever yours and yet cannot be possessed in terms comprehensible to human beings... It warms you up in the most gentle and promising way, whispering its mystical lullabies into your ear and leaving signs in its shadows as if they were meant for you only, leaving you questioning about the meanings of existence. The moonlight's balance of color and light is perfect in the most divine way - it lacks the tiring heat of the sunlight or its exhausting brightness, the light of another nature, that only truly happy people can bear... The moonlight - silent, tender, and yet cruel, it is always there and always responding to you walking under it, within it, on it, deprived of the magnificent indifference of the sun, a luxury allowed to those who are so generous in their givings... Its silence carves out the heartbeats of the ones longing to it, cooling down the passion of their hearts, transforming it into the emotion of another kind... This capturing light of the moon is calling me to it, night after night, caressing me through the rice-paper screens and lace curtains of the bedroom, making me wake up in the middle of the night and walk - walk uphill - towards the forest spread on the hill a mile away from my house, where giant branches of the old trees are crossing over my head, carrying the weight of their moon-lit wisdom. Farewell, those days when the sky was big, it is in my palm now, this dark, silent, deep, somehow desperate sky, desperate to cover us all with its blessing! I've learned too soon, the sky cannot cover as even though it is stretched above our heads, it is connected to another universe and nor it separates neither protects us from it. We all are one step away from being swallowed by it and no one knows how we will look when there - will we be shadows of us in real life or locked into different bodies and forms? Will we survive the memory of things and happenings or will it haunt us in the same way we are reminded of all undone, unfinished or feared through our dreams and nightmares? I know it is all broader than it seems - in meanings,  in spaces or anything said to be measurable as nothing can be truly measured, no limit there is to one's power of life both within and beyond the physical existence...

 Here come some pictures I took when walking at night following the moonlight... 

Mid-August Moon...

The moon decided to play with me today and I thought I'd play back with it a bit... 

the eye of earth...

split into day and night

                                                                          

                                                                                 

reflected in the car lights...

it calls me to itself...

to where it touches the shore...

On a recent dream

I was supposed to post this piece much earlier, but I guess it was too early since I didn't. It's been more than two months since I wrote this and even more since what I'm talking about here happened. So here it comes…

The other day I saw another dream with my great-grandma in it. In this dream, I met my grandma after some episode with a lot of running and hiding involved, when I finally escaped and came to the sea. As always in my dreams, the sea was dark grey and looked cold, though the water was warm enough to be able to swim. It was cloudy and chilly, the sky was silverish. When I came near, I saw a wooden embankment in a shape of the Russian "Г" letter. There stood a small mountain to the right around which this embankment was attached forming the mentioned shape. My great-grandma was standing on the embankment and greeted me when she saw me approaching. She however looked slightly different from how she was in reality, or at least during the last years of her life. She seemed much taller and even younger, her back wasn't bending, but her hair was white as always and she was wearing a scarf on her head in a way she always used to do in real life. She wasn't smiling and, though her voice was smooth, the look in her eyes was strict.

I brought with me some creature, almost like the one in the Korean movie "Host", but smaller, and I let it down into the water when I reached the turning point of the embankment. I could see the creature swimming away fast. I followed it with my eyes until it disappeared around fifty meters away. Here my great-grandma turned to me and told me I shouldn't have let it go, I should have put it inside of one of the car tires, placed inside the water and attached to the left side of the wooden embankment in two rows. Like this the creature wouldn't have swum away. Minutes later a scary shark appeared and almnst jumped up the embankment, so my great-grandma told me to place some stones at the edge of the embankment all around it, leaving just a small access to the sea right where the embankment was turning. I did so and checked if it was strong enough. It seemed so, I felt relieved. My grandma was standing there looking at me in the same strict but neutral way. Somehow I knew that while I would be the one leaving from there, my grandma will stay, this will be her fortress.

Days after I wrote this dream down in my notes, I read this article about how Japan shifted several meters in its different parts after the quake of 3/11, and how some coastal towns get flooded with tides up to two times per day, making the life of the residents unbearable. They now have to build defensive embankments made out of seabags to save the foundations of their houses from being washed off gradually by these daily floodings... 

I still can't know for sure what this dream meant, like one never does. Or, better said, it has a way too many meanings. It makes by far much more sense to me now though than two months ago. My grandma used to always do cards' fortunetelling for me and as she can't do it for me anymore now that she is gone, I hope she will keep appearing in my dreams giving me signs and directions. That dream stayed in my memory… Now, a drastic change happened in my life that I'm not yet ready to write about. But my grandma definitely foretold it in a way in this vivid dream… Not that she showed me exactly what was going to happen, but gave me the signs. The water is strong - it gives and takes - and when surrounded by sea like here in Japan, you feel its power over you through its revelation in every single detail - in the humid air, in the lustrous sky, in the reflections of birds' wings in the dark puddles, in the eyes of a dear friend covered by tears...

Below is my sketch of the dream.

Some interrupted thinkings...

What's true is only true in that very moment and what we hope for is not necessarily preestablished by the actions we take in the present. Therefore the real happiness is to learn to enjoy the very moment here and now no matter your past or future. And though ambitions and dreams are good and drive us to better results, our life is first and foremost in where we are in the very second, but not in the cloud of pleasing dreams ahead of us. Failing to realize this is the reason of being constantly dissatisfied with what one has and experiences unless it connects to results and achievements. 

On a wedding at Jirisan, South Korea

Visiting Cheonghakdong (meaning "Azure Crane") Village, located on top of Jirisan (智異山) in the southern region of South Korea, was undoubtedly one of the most amazing experiences I've had in my adult life.

After living in Japan for eight years and having visited most of the neighboring countries of both East and South-East Asia, I came to think that there is probably nothing else that can surprise me greatly, but the experience of the last weekend certainly made me understand how ignorant this kind of thinking had been. The thing is that I've been always expecting to be mostly impressed by the beauty of the sites and locations, forgetting that truly meaningful lessons can and should be first and foremost derived from the interactions with people one meets on the way. I guess these years of living far from my family have isolated my heart a little more than I expected, making it quite satisfactory to enjoy the silent dialogue with the nature during my travels, without feeling any necessity to communicate with people more than required. I now realize however that, although this might have been an indispensable part of my growth, it is time to let in what I've been keeping away.

Going back to our experience at the village, the inhabitants of which are maintaining traditional ways of living in unity with the surrounding nature, I must say that, comparing to other villages of the kind, this one's peculiarity is that the villagers' way of reviving the folk customs through their appearance (which includes traditional clothing and almost knee-length hair in knots) and actions seems ultimately effortless, creating an atmosphere of complete authenticity. Thus the time-slip effect is fully reached, helping the visitors to not only enjoy the beautiful sites and views, but to feel free from the anxieties of the city life. Everything in the village is in full harmony with one other - the colors and shapes of the original stone constructions against the background sceneries, the sound of flowing water carrying bright petals on its surface, and the freshness of air filled with the fragrances of grass, clay, and soil.

What surprised me is that, despite being placed in such a different atmosphere, I felt extremely natural, almost if I had visited this site before or if I saw it in one of my dreams, the kind of dreams where one suddenly starts speaking and understanding a foreign language they never learned before or possesses an ability to do unusual things - fearlessly walk on the edge of the cliff or fly. I believe that this was due to the highly welcoming atmosphere created by the religious men, also called "virtuous men", who reside in the village, practicing asceticism and peace.

The event we attended was a wedding of a relative, the ceremony itself conducted by the head master with the help of his family members and disciples. Unlike the currently practiced Chinese-style Korean traditional wedding, where the bride stands apart from the groom with her sleeves against her eyes, the one we witnessed was following one of the oldest purely Korean folk traditions - the couple sat next to each in front of the painting picturing the Creator of Korea in an open temple, both wearing lovely wreaths made from wild flowers, white and blue, and the guests bowed to all sides of the world following the instructions of the master, thus marking the beginning and end of the ceremony. A small folk music orchestra playing at the wedding consisted of a flute, drum and zither.

The second part of the ceremony was held in a long rectangular-shape communal hall, the newly-wedded couple seated in the north-west part of the room, to the left off the performance space, occupied by the orchestra and singers. The head virtuous man was sitting in front of them in the north-east part, followed by a famous governor, all of them wearing traditional clothing, a bright-colored "hanbok" for the couple and white gowns for the head master and other religious men. The guests were all seated along the two walls of the hall, trays with tea and sweets in front of them. The tray in front of the newly-married couple had a bottle of wine as well and was decorated with two wedding geese, symbolizing a union of a husband and wife. After the couple and the guests made their first sips of the drinks, the folk orchestra music started followed by singing and dancing. In the end the guests were invited to join the dance as well. The singing, performed in an old-style way, was deeply moving, and it felt like the sound was coming out from the depth of the singer's body, or better say, it seemed like all her body was singing, not just the throat and lungs. It felt like if one would touch any part of the singer's body, they will feel it being energized with strong vibration. One of the starting songs, recitative in parts, was the one called "Love" ("Pansori Sarang-ga") and it was combined with a game, where the groom had to kiss the bride's hand every time the word "love" was spelled, bringing a lot of laughter. The song also included some jokes with profane language (added deliberately by the performer), something found worldwide in traditional weddings, especially those close to the heathen tradition, and aimed at releasing negative energy and also suggesting physical relation and fertility associated with it. This song was then sung several more times during the third part of the wedding as well as during the meal the next day.

For the third part of the wedding, less ceremonial, the religious men, the couple and the guests all relocated to another communal hall towards the bottom of the mountain, after a fifteen minutes walk down the hill right before it got dark. The food, which included the celebratory dish of fermented skate ("hongeo"), and "makgeolli" rice wine were served, and the feast started with people making toasts and singing or being asked to sing, which everyone did without hesitating. Singing is a commonly found component of Korean parties and the amazing part is that almost everyone without exception is very well versed in many songs and has great voices. The feast continued for over six hours, after which some people went to their inns located nearby, and others, including the couple, relocated to a smaller space to celebrate with the guests who could only arrive towards the night.

Since the day started for us very early and we had to drive to Jirisan for nearly four hours from Seoul and since I was still a little tired from my flight the day before that, we did not join the fourth part of the wedding, which made it possible for us to wake up in time for breakfast and have a rich and slightly spicy bean-paste soup that helped us feel active no matter the rice wine we drank on the wedding day.  After the breakfast we climbed up the mountain once again to join the head master for a tea ceremony, with multiple kinds of tea prepared and served by his wife. The room was located right at the edge of the cliff opening a far-reaching view of the forest, mountains, and the sky. The master was making remarks about the Korean history, both political and cultural, and the conversation continued for over an hour, tea refilled every time the cups were emptied. After the tea drinking, everybody went down the mountain and relocated to the site around fifteen-minutes drive away, nearby a beautiful river. We took off our shoes and came to a big stone in the middle of the stream, where we sat down for sometime enjoying the sunshine and forest flowers, lily-of-the-valley being one of them, picked by the master's wife. The site had many paired wooden idols, one bigger and another smaller, most likely representing the whole range of binary oppositions. After approximately half an hour we had a light meal of forest grass with the rice wine, highly fermented and almost with the taste of mud in it, in a small wooden pavilion located next to a big traditional house at the bank of the river. 

Very soon we entered this house and had a large meal of grilled duck with the endless portions of various side dishes and wine. It was amazing how every time we moved to a new spot on different levels of the mountain, there was a table there prepared for the occasion, starting from the breakfast and tea ceremony and till the grass and wine snack and the duck meal. The latter also lasted long with many toasts and songs and it wasn't until it started getting slightly dark that we finally got into the car to have our four-hours drive back to Seoul. The further we moved away from Jirisan, the mountain ranges replaced by forests, valleys and villages on flat grounds later on, the more it felt like we were leaving behind a wonderful dream, as the atmosphere there was so harmonious, peaceful and joyful, that it seemed almost unreal for the modern world of hustle and noise.

On royal wedding and the speech by the Bishop of London

The wedding of William and Kate was truly wonderful and I enjoyed watching it live on NHK broadcasting very much yesterday night. My roommate joined me and we spent over two hours glued to the television screen. We both agreed that it's been a while that something beautiful like this happened and was on air, so somehow it reminded me of my late childhood years when there were (or did it only seem to be that way?) much more occasions to feel touched and inspired after following some good news about high society on TV. Is it that Russia used to be a monarchy itself that the site of the wedding evoke the most nostalgic and romantic feelings inside of me, or is it that most of the current news are either about wars or disasters,  but being able to see the wedding felt like a long-awaited but fresh flow.

While watching I also thought that many people are forgetting about the importance of "playfulness" in their everyday life. While such an element is core to the life of celebrities, full of attention to their appearances' details and theatralisation of actions, we have forgotten to enrich our own lives with it and falsely think that this is not our domain and that we can be fulfilled by just observing various playful rituals being performed by the others. In reality, we would certainly benefit from allowing more room for "playfulness" in our daily movements and encounters - while there is so much to choose from, we are restricted by the boundaries of what's acceptable and appropriate,  depriving ourselves from creativity that is supposed to be our true nature. While it's a dress one wears, a meal one cooks, a party one organizes for their dear friends or a song one writes - we should just let it be and stop cultivating the in-shelled way of life so many people of our age, and very strongly here in Japan, tend to prefer.  

Going back to discussing the wedding, I would just like to make one more remark about another thing that was very pleasing - the speech delivered by the Bishop of London. He talked about creativity, the fire one carries inside, the one that we should first distinguish and keep glowing, and also about how your partner in marriage can help you find your true self. While listening to this wonderful speech, I noticed though that its effect on me was a way too relaxing and soothing, making me understand that there was something dangerous about the Bishop's words, dangerous in a way that one can start perceiving marriage as the only way to find one's "deepest and truest self",  to enjoy "fuller life" and "to thrive". While this interpretation of the Bishop's words is highly tempting, and could be well applicable to some successful marriages, we should never forget that we both come to this world and leave it alone, so we should make the best effort we can to find our inner power prior to entering into the sacred union with another person. By doing so we can evolve even more through generation of dual energy once we unite with our chosen one. However, if we try to feed on the energy of the partner to fill ourselves with happiness, we shall fail inevitably.

On art

Some pieces of art take years to understand, whether it is the meaning that the artist originally meant for the artwork or the meaning of your own that acquired its embodiment in the materialized cry of a renowned stranger's soul. That's how the artists, the critics and the masses collide. The first give form to the universal pain of humanity. The second understand it and can distinguish, though remain unable to find means for transmitting the message on their own, without borrowing the energy and power of an object produced by an artist. People who have no connection to art in their everyday life still have ears for different forms of art - though can neither express or interpret its meaning in universal terms. They identify the themes touched in art pieces with themselves, in an attempt to find the answers to those sides of their personality or to hidden parts of their soul that cannot and should not be revealed in the day-to-day social interactions. Thus, all three groups interact over societies, borders, and times.

On my great-granma's passing away...

I woke up late today and didn't check my Facebook the way I always do. I was first talking on the phone with my boyfriend discussing some daily matters, then cooked my lunchtime breakfast and turned on this Japanese drama I started watching the other day, a lovely one, about a doctor who falls into a time slip that sends him back to Edo during the Bakumatsu era...

When waking up I  remembered I saw a dream and could still go over it in my head. In my dream I saw a huge sports ground, like a soccer field. The sky was grey and it looked like it was about to rain. To the right from the field there was this two or three-storied building made of red brick. I remember standing in the middle of the field together with my boyfriend when the earthquake started and I immediately saw a tall residential building on the other side of the field getting caught on fire. The fire was orange and the smoke was black. In that very second I knew I had to look for my mom and my great-grandma. I first went to the left and had to climb some sandy hill using the roots of the trees to help me move up. However, there was nothing there where they could be. I then went down back to the field, crossed it and went straight into the brick building I saw at first. I went up the stairs and entered a room that was arranged in a way like they were performing a heath check there. It wasn't a hospital, more like a regular space inside of some building that was turned into a check-up place for a while. I then saw many people I knew there, maybe ten. I can't say for sure now who they were and whether my mom was there, I can't remember. I remember though that I immediately saw my great-grandma. She was wearing some white clothes and also a small white cotton scarf on her head, the way she always does in real life. I sat down right next to her. She looked at me kindly and I felt enormous warmth, soothing and soft, coming from her.  She didn't say a word, but I remember I woke up with a feeling like I received a real hug from her - warm, soft and pure. I even felt her smell in my dream - warm and gentle. I felt calm and happy after this dream despite the earthquake and fire...

When I was talking on the phone to my boyfriend, an earthquake did happen, a small one though, not like the one in the dream. The epicenter was in Kanto area and it was 4 grades according to the Japanese measurement system in where I live. Since aftershocks happen here every single day ever since March 11, I didn't get surprised or even scared that much - it was gone in around 30 seconds.

Around two hours passed since I started watching the drama when I remembered I didn't check my Facebook messages yet. I reached for my iPhone, pressed the app icon and saw two identical messages from my dad sent one after another: "My dear child, our great-grandma passed away. Me and grandma were next to her till the very end...". And that was the end of the world...

She passed away yesterday 7:50pm, which is 1:50am here in Japan. At that time I was finishing my shower and getting ready to sleep, my thoughts were away from home or my relatives or even my boyfriend. I was just doing routine things and nothing struck me at that very moment. I am endlessly thankful to God though that she came to me in my dream. I am thankful to her for having come. I am thankful for having seen her together with my boyfriend once again in February and for receiving a blessing from her for our marriage. I am thankful for having had her next to me throughout my life - ever since I was born, and I was born in a hospital where she worked in the cloakroom during that time, for every gentle touch and word she gave me, for every story she told me, for every fortunetelling she made for me, for every "pirojok" she cooked for me... She was and will always be the guardian angel of our family, no matter how far any of us will go, she is our home that each of us will carry in our hearts...

It feels surreal to think that she is gone now that I'm so far away from my homeland... Maybe that's for the better... as she will always be alive in my heart. 

On my place in Japan...

My house is not the same anymore. It used to live independently from the surrounding nature, but ever since the quake it has become a part of it. Its foundation has put down roots, its windows and holes have opened up to let in the harsh wind, transforming it into a wind mill. It now breathes together with the storm, directs its eyes at the poisonous sun, speeding up the beats of its wounded heart. Being inside of it makes me feel like I'm inside some beastly creature, that walks around the wood carrying me together with it... Sometimes it sits down to take a little rest - its breath slows down then, it closes its eyes making the vision outside the windows of the house misty and blurred, making me feel dizzy and motionless... At another time the creature would suddenly start running around, shaking upside down - this blocks my ears and makes my chest hurt... This place will never be the same anymore. It will take forever to tame it down... to bring back to the world of people from the world of element...

On Seoul (fractured impressions while being away from earthquake-hit Tokyo)

...It feels surprisingly different to find oneself in a city where everything is connected by buses - numbers are here to remember, not colors or names. The outside panorama is in front of one's eyes at each moment, not the advertisements on the walls of underground tunnels. It's raining heavily. Sitting on one of the front seats of the bus gives a marvelous perspective - gray, wet, spacious, misty, chilly, eclectic Seoul, a neverending line of multistoried apartment complexes, brownish branches of naked trees... A city like this can well erase one's memory of the colors' diversity, but keep a lonely urge for brightness deep inside one's heart. Will I survive its gravity?

Intro

The title of this blog is that of a tale by a Russian 19th century writer Nikolai Leskov, where one's life is seen as a journey and one's journey is seen as a life. Originally born in the European part of Russia but having come to Japan at the age of 19, I am now preparing to move further - to South Korea, and I find myself at the very stage of reconsidering what the notion of home really is. When moving from one place to another, do we do it in search of something or to escape from oneselves? How long does it really take to feel at home somewhere and what is it that drives us away from these warmed nests? I hope to be able to explore these and other questions in my blog postings by describing old and new experiences in each of the places I stayed at, those that passed by almost unnoticed as well as those that left deep traces in my soul.