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| Catching this young performer busking was the perfect end of the day. Check him out here on IG and here on his website. I was his Detroit-style cheering section, because the Japanese are so reserved. Even though I couldn't understand his lyrics, I told Keita I loved his energy and would buy his album! |
I'm only 24 hours in Japan, en route to Pune, India to study at the Iyengar Yoga Institute. I booked a long circuitous journey through Japan and Thailand in my search for the cheapest route to India.
I had one afternoon and evening to explore the area close to the airport and decided to visit Naritasan temple. Sitting on the bench, I listened to the huge black ravens calling back and forth to each other, children running across the stones, and elders and teens fanning incense smoke across their faces.
It occurred to me that the last time I was in Japan was with my parents. It was 1984, and my brother John was also with me. It was the first time I was exposed to karaoke, at a family party hosted by my father's colleague at University of Kitakyushi. I was amazed to see the kids so playful and expressive, dancing, and performing pop songs. Even the parents got up and sang, and my father did a soulful rendition of Arirang, the people's anthem of Korea. He was a bad singer, but of course that's perfectly in keeping with the spirit of karaoke, and I think this was the first and last time I heard him perform a song. Since I've been learning more Hawaiian music, I'm realizing that mele have layers of meaning, not just superficial meanings about romance or beautiful scenery. Really we are singing about the `āina as God, and about sovereignty and collective liberation. In the same way, Arirang, presumably a love song, became a resistance anthem during the Japanese occupation, because political songs were banned.
In 1984, my father was 56 years old, which shocks me, because I remember him as an old man, and 56 sounds so young now that I am 60. I thought of him yesterday as I watched grandmothers and grandfathers visit the temple, make their offerings, say their prayers, and bow. My upbringing was Christian, but many of my spiritual practices these days are informed by Buddhism, as well as yoga, and land-based, animist and indigenous spiritual traditions. I was so happy to discover the park behind the temple, and spent a long time walking the land, visiting the trees, reconnecting to some of the familiar plants, and greeting anew those I did not recognize. I touched the pohaku, feeling the stone energy from deep within the earth, that came up on this old volcanic island. I brought the spirit of the `āina of Waimānalo with me, and sang E ho mai to the rhythm of my footsteps, and all 4 verses of Arirang.
My parents are here with me on Kyushu island. They were Korean Japanophiles, and indeed there are a lot of Korean tourists here. What does it mean to be a Korean who loves Japan? It's complicated, and there are a lot of Koreans who are not much interested in Japan, who brutally occupied Korea, deprived us of our natural resources, impoverished us, kept us underdeveloped for decades, and decimated native culture and habitat. The Japanese have yet to admit and apologize for the decades and lifelong harm of sex trafficking Korean girls.
Yet the Japanese are our neighbors, our cousins, our siblings. When I asked my mother why she liked Japan, she said it reminded her so much of Korea, that she had left in 1968. I immediately had the same feeling when I landed here, and caught myself many times speaking in Korean to the Japanese. Does the history of Japan and Korea have anything to teach us about the path forward of Palestine? Maybe, maybe not.
As I massaged the land with every footfall, felt the breeze through the leaves, touched the bark of the trees, and listened to the movement of the water through the spring-fed ponds, I felt the spirits of Japan, Korea, and Hawai`i were all present. I sent prayers for Uncle Wally, who is still hospitalized at Tripler hospital, and Tutu Hi`ilani, recovering from carbon monoxide poisoning and smoke damage. I sang songs and cried tears for my parents, no longer in the earthly realm. I thought of my brother, John, and memories of our travels in Japan together rushed through me. The beaches we visited, long walks through cities, the restaurants where we would simply point to something on the menu not knowing what it was.... We were so young, our futures so full before us, how would we guess he would be gone in 3 years?
I also wept for the children of Gaza, too soon martyred. They are also here with me, with us. I wear a keffiyeh wherever I go, and they are woven into the threads, wrapping around me, bundling me on the chilly plane. All these souls who have comprised my life are my teachers, my guides. May I always listen and receive. May I always feel them with me. May I become more attuned, so that we may heal together. Amen, amene, om shanti, ashé o.
