Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Ryushin's Recollections: Part V

Our breakfast on the last morning in Kyoto was exactly like the previous days: yummy, filling, and very Japanese. We finished and were told to meet in the lobby to head to the Shinkansen (Bullet Train) station.

I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to get thirty five people in one place at one time. Let me tell you, it’s fairly challenging, even if they’re Buddhists. Ten minutes or so after our prescribed departure time had slid by, we decided to leave in batches rather than as one group.

Fifteen pilgrims rolled their carts and swung their tote bags nearly in synch as we marched to the train station (different than the bullet train). It was another amazingly hot and humid day (to remind you, dear reader). We passed by a gaggle of obachan (grandmother types) with their traditional accouterments: wide brimmed hats, umbrellas, and gloves that came up to their elbows. Everyone in our group made it on to the train without problems, and we safely made it to the Shinkansen station.

We had to wait at the ticket line for the second half of our group to arrive (as one doesn’t go back outside). We had some slight anxiety that they would find the right section (Shinkansen stations are fairly large and can be quite complicated, with everything written in Japanese and all). I stood up closer to a crossroads I felt sure that they would pass. While I waited, I took photos of people.
 
There is something quite amazing about taking photos of people going places. Each one is so obviously different, and also astoundingly beautiful. I caught people glancing in my direction, teenagers walking with their friends, families, and many business people.

I got a blurred photo of a Japanese man running--something you don’t see very much. It’s amazing that, when visiting a different culture, so many things are different that only when something directly in front of you reminds you how things would be at home do you actually recognize the extent of the difference.

As I was pondering such things, I saw a bald head in the distance, then two and three more. Chozen was leading the pilgrims to our section, and we rejoiced. I should also mention that there are many stair cases in these stations where they do not have escalators. Some of the pilgrims on the trip were carting large rolling suitcases, and this proved to be a technically challenging part of the trip, as you will see.

We got to our platform and there were signs on the ground where each numbered train car would stop, so you could line up in the appropriate place. There were, however, multiple numbers at one place, as different train lines came to this one platform. The Japanese were kind enough to explain which was which, only it was all in Japanese. So, we did some guessing and figured we could walk through the train if we were wrong. The train came in and we found out that we were right--a simple pleasure.

A comment about bullet trains. People say that you could set your watch by a bullet train, and they would be correct in such a statement. They are so amazingly precise and go such incredible distances that their accuracy is scary. One way that they keep to the schedule is by not dillying or dallying long in the actual station. I timed it a couple times and the doors were open for almost precisely one minute. That is one minute for all the people on the train to get off (with their baggage, if they have any), and for those on the platform to get on (with their baggage). These were probably the most intense times on the trip.

We boarded fine and just inside each car there is usually space for your baggage (not much space, I would like to add). In this car there were private compartments for people to have a meeting. As a result the baggage space was halfway into the car. There were two places to put your bags. As most people had put theirs in the first one, I put mine in the second. I found my seat and promptly took a nap. The scenery of farms and cities whizzed by. Occasionally we made a stop, and people scurried on and off the train.

I woke up when  our stop was announced, and we moved  towards the back in order to be ready to deboard. It seemed that everyone had grabbed our various bags to ensure that they all made it off. I noticed that my bag wasn’t there, so I continued on down the corridor. The train stopped. The door opened, and out we leapt. I was towards the end, and as I was about exit I took a quick look around the bags, and did not see mine! I ran back inside, people calling after me. I raced down the corridor to where we had placed our bags and looked again: no bags. Then I remembered, I put mine in the other cubby. I poked my head over and there it was. I grabbed it and raced towards the door. The whistle blew as I jumped off the train. The door shut and the train pulled off. It was like a scene from Indiana Jones.

Now we had eleven minutes to find where our next platform was and get there. This is where the problem of not having escalators came to the front of our attention. I passed my bag, which was fairly small and light, to another pilgrim, took their oversized bag and carted it down the long flight of stairs.

We ran and rolled our way over to the base of another set of stairs. Up we went, hauling our luggage of various weights. We made it with two or three minutes to spare. We spent that time scratching our heads about which of the three numbers on the ground was for our train. In the end we simply spread out so we could enter the train faster, and sort things out once on board.

Everyone got on safely and it was two hours at roughly 200-300 mph to our next destination, Hiroshima. I took another nap.












I would like to take this time, as the me in our story rests, to give a slight aside. I would like to warn you, dear readers, that from here on out the story becomes slightly more emotional. Most of you are aware that this trip was bound to have such moments, but I do wish to offer that forewarning. That said, we shall carry on.

We arrived in Hiroshima and met Taiken-san, who is a longtime friend of Chozen and Hogen. He had offered us his family temple as a home base for our time in Hiroshima.

We had an hour before our bus would arrive, so we were given the opportunity to get food at the station. Jikan and I found a small air-conditioned restaurant which looked trendy. We looked at the menu and decided to give our body a slight break from Japanese food. Jikan ordered “Ethnic breaded chicken” and French fries. I ordered a personal pizza with vegetables.

As we sat there, we both became very aware of where we were and what had happened sixty years before. Tears began to arise simply thinking of the tragedy that had taken place. We allowed the tears to come and sat in silence. Soon they had passed, and soon after that our food arrived.

Jikan was brought a small plate of chicken nuggets and nine French fries, which were arranged in an orderly crisscrossed fashion. My pizza was fairly light on cheese and the “vegetable” was tomatoes found in the sauce. Once again, we were laughing and enjoying ourselves and our meal.

We met our group and went to our bus. The bus drove us to the Hiroshima Peace Park. Prior to the bombing, the area that is now the Peace Park was simply part of the city. There were temples, businesses, hospitals, and homes there. After the bombing, there was nothing. The city of Hiroshima decided to devote a large area around the epicenter of the bombing to Peace.

We were all glued to the windows, watching this city unfold. Suddenly, from behind a row of trees, a building leapt out at us. To call it a building is giving it a bit too much credit. It is known as the “A bomb Memorial Dome.” It was previously known as the Prefectural Industrial Promotional Hall. What is left now is the shell of a building. The dome is roughly five stories high and looks like a skeleton wire frame. To look at it, and see the rubble still standing exactly where it fell sixty years ago is haunting. Once more, the tears came to my eyes.
















The A-dome, as it’s sometimes called, is located mere meters from where the bomb detonated. The building survived in part because it was so precisely near the epicenter: the forces from the detonating bomb were all pushing directly downward. After the bombing it was one of the ten or so buildings left standing, and it could be seen from several miles away.

The city of Hiroshima decided that the building should stay as a reminder of the power of atomic weapons and a prayer that atomic bombs would never be used again. They have done three projects to strengthen the structure since the bombing, and plan to continue doing so for into future. 

We passed the A-dome and went into the Peace Park. At one end of the Peace Park is the Atomic Bomb Museum, our destination. We were told that we had slightly more than an hour before we needed to meet at the bus, and then we headed off to the museum.

 The museum starts off with the beginnings of Hiroshima, and how it grew into a city. It goes through the war, and how people were aiding with the war effort-- similar to the American workers who helped build planes, bombs, and so forth. They seem to be quite honest about the fact that all the Japanese civilians believed in the war and supported it.

Then comes the bombing. They show a circular model of the city as it was before the bombing. As I mentioned, there were the various parts of city life all represented in section of the city. Right next to it, they show the aftermath of the bombing. A couple buildings remained, as did a couple bridges. Essentially everything was destroyed.

At 8:15 a.m. on August 6th , 1945, the Enola Gay dropped an atomic bomb on the city of Hiroshima. It exploded 600 meters above the city. The temperature was probably in the 70s and quite humid that morning (the clouds were slowly burning off).

When the bomb exploded there was a flash of light that people described as being the equivalent of one hundred bolts of lightning. The temperature rose to 3000-4000 degrees for five seconds. People near the epicenter, mostly civilians, were vaporized instantly without a trace. We saw one photo of a shadow that had been a man sitting on some stairs in front of a bank. All that was left of the man was that shadow.

After the heat came the sound blast, at roughly 200 mph., which blew down most buildings. The heat caused a fire which spread rapidly through the buildings, which were mostly made of wood.

People were caught under collapsed burning houses. People on the streets who had survived were badly burned. The radioactive dust, water vapor, and smoke went into the air.  They became a cloud, and fell as black rain later that day.

This rain was radioactive and most people who drank it died. But, people did drink it because all their pipes were destroyed and they had no way to get fresh water. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people died crying for water.

There were dead bodies floating down the river, and people crying out for their family members who were lost or dead. The hospitals were in ruins. Most of the doctors were dead.  It’s estimated that 80,000 people died as a result of that one bomb.

As we walked further through the museum there were pieces of people’s lives which had been found among the rubble. A burnt school uniform, a charred lunch box, part of tricycle. We had an audio guide and we heard little snippets about who these things belonged to, how old they had been, and where they had been at the time of the bombing. As I walked further along tears flowed. I walked with heavy feet, as if I were carrying each person I heard about on my back.

At the end of the museum is a section where you can watch videos of the hibakusha (survivors of the atomic bombings) tell their stories of that day. I was watching a man describe his amazing experience when I felt that I was being watched. I turned my head and there was one of our videographers, filming the authentic experience of my sadness. I felt myself get angry, and shut down. I walked past them and straight out of the museum.

I ran into Hogen outside, and he asked me to go back and remind people that it was time to go. I went back less than enthusiastically to inform the other pilgrims that we were late for an appointment. After an experience like that, the idea that we had to be somewhere and that it was really important didn’t seem to make sense. But, I went and gently told the people I saw (most of whom were in tears) that they would need to head towards the end.

We gathered and headed off to Taiken-san’s family temple, Zensho-ji. Zensho-ji is just outside of Hiroshima, on a hill that looks down on the city. We had to carry our bags up two long flights of stairs, but I heard no groans about this from anyone. We got to the top and were shown where to put our bags.

We were then ushered into a formal tea room. In the tea ceremony there is very little in the room to distract the mind. The things that are in the room are often seasonal, and thus remind us to be present. There was a flower arrangement, which we were invited to look at and appreciate. There was also a calligraphy which we were invited to reflect on briefly before sitting in a large circle.

A young Japanese woman came out in full kimono and began to perform the tea ceremony for us. This involves ritualistically cleaning the tea cup, opening the container of tea, taking some matcha (powdered green tea), placing it in the cup, taking hot water, pouring it in the cup, whipping it with a bamboo whisk until frothy, and offering it to one of the pilgrims.

It is a lovely ceremony, and each thing is done very deliberately and mindfully. Had she done this for each person we would have been there a long time. The way they get around this is to have other women (also dressed in their formal kimonos) whisking tea behind closed doors, and coming out to serve us, two pilgrims at a time.

The tea was lovely. In the middle of the ceremony we began to hear the shakuhachi (bamboo flute) playing in the background. We all thought it was very novel that they would play us a recording of some zen flute music to complete the scene.  

We were directed back to our baggage. This route took us past the Hondo (chanting hall). Inside the hondo we found, to our amazement, an old Japanese gentleman sitting in seiza (kneeling position) playing the shakuhachi!

Something about the way he played made the air feel like warm caresses and the sunset seem soft on one’s eyes. We proceeded into the a hall at the far end of the temple. There were low tables set up, and food spread in every direction. It looked like they had been cooking for a week. We dug in.

They had made several vegetarian food items, but some of the choices definitely involved fish or meat. We sat down and waited for everyone to go through the line, both pilgrims and the lay community who had organized this warm greeting. Westerners and Japanese were interspersed in order to promote talking and visiting.

There was a brief introduction from Hojo-san, Taiken-san’s dad and the current abbot of the temple. Chozen got up and gave an introduction and thank you. The head of their board got up to say some words. Kaz said some words. Apparently this is standard Japanese style. At last, we were allowed to eat. The food was wonderful. I was surprised to find that the Japanese make a mean potato salad.

At some point Chozen organized several of the female pilgrims to come to the front of the room. She had Kaz explain that they wanted to sing a song as a way of saying thank you. It was done in baika style. Baika is a form of melodic chanting accompanied by bells. The women’s choir sang a traditional piece devoted to Jizo Bodhisattva. They had little makeshift bells which they rang mostly in time.

As they chanted, I noticed an older fellow in the front with his eyes closed, tapping his hand to the table in time with the ladies. I thought he must be enjoying the performance. At the end, they gave a wonderful round of applause. The Japanese are very polite towards any attempt by a foreigner to embrace the Japanese culture. I’ve been told that they think of us like children.

Anyway, we returned to our delectable meal briefly before that man called our attention from the other end of the room. He had a small entourage of members , each with a hand bell and stationary bell. He explained that they had a small baika group, and that they wished treat us to their version of the same piece. Well, let me just say that they beat the pants off us. They went on to do a version of “taking refuge in the three treasures” which was, to our untrained ears, perfect. Lots of applause ensued, and they stepped down.

BUT, up came the shakuhachi player. He said he wished to play us a tune. He performed a couple traditional pieces, and then broke into a zen version of “Amazing Grace”!

After conferring with some of my fellow pilgrims about how we were being thoroughly shown up, I went over and made a comment to Chozen. She got up to formally present the banner that we had made for their temple. She pointed out different people’s panels and told about what part they had played in the trip. She then said, “…and this panel was done by Ryushin. Ryushin is one of our long-term residents at the monastery as well as a wonderful juggler, and he wanted to do a short performance for you.”

I asked Hojo-san to turn off all the lights. Then out came my glow-in-the-dark juggling balls. I can’t say that it was the best performance of my life, but I felt satisfied and they seemed impressed.

At this point, Taiken-san stepped up--before someone could try to up the ante and eat a centipede or something wilder--and called it a night. We all helped with wrapping food and putting away the tables. The men and women slept primarily in the room we had been eating in. We set out futons and got ready for bed.

A Japanese boy came up to me and was asking about juggling. His name was Yasahiro, and he was Taiken-san’s son. Yasa had grown up in Japan for three years and been in California for five years. He was very American, and we all got a big kick out of him. I taught him a little juggling and then told him we could do some more the next day. Lights out, and the day was done.
 
More photos are available at http://www.flickr.com/photos/97575609@N00/ 
 
Love,
          Ryushin

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