Mamachari-Do

Karate-do is awesome, I love aiki-do, and I would even like to try sa-do, but I have found my true calling ... mamachari-do! The "-do" we are speaking of here is placed at the end of certain words and means, "the way" or "the path" and is pronounced "doe". It is commonly seen in martial arts like karate-do, aiki-do, ju-do, kyuu-do, but can also be in other cultural arts like cha-do (the way of tea). This "-do" denotes a spiritual path one can undertake in a specific art to cultivate themselves. To many foriegners, it may be desirable to study many "do"s to be a talented person in various fields, and even in ancient Chinese martial arts, one ideal was to study many other subjects to supplement martial arts like calligraphy, literature, tea, etc. However, generally it seems to me that the Japanese traditionally admire someone who undertakes only one art fully. I think that has some importance when discussing the meaning of "do". One art is not better than any other, and in the grand-scheme of things, they really aren't anything at all. But, these various "do" can be used as tools to reach higher planes of existence. By having one art, you can concentrate all of your effort for one goal.

Mamachari: heavy-ass, one-speed bicycle, with at least one basket and a bell. AKA, granny bike. It also helps if it is rusty and the brakes sqeak revealing diminishing effectiveness.

Mamachari-Do; this is my spiritual path.

When I came to Japan, I had two primary goals. One was to train in a traditional Japanese art. I would have taken tea ceremony or flower arranging if it was the most available, but I have been lucky enough to find what I really wanted, aikido. The next goal, was to travel around Japan and see as much as possible. When I asked my ALT predecessor here in Kurobe at Sakurai High School if she had travelled much around the area of Kurobe, or even Japan, she said no. I was very dissapointed. I ask other Japanese, and am culturally disappointed at their lack of knowledge of the various regions of their own country. I was going to be different, and explore everything from the tip of Hokkaido to the southernmost reaches of Kyushu and Shikoku. Well, though there certainly are trains connecting the whole of Japan, it didn't take long to find out that they can be extremely expensive, confusing, and time consuming. It is not so easy. Generally, for me to take a trip to Hokkaido or Kyushu, it would cost about $200 one way on the train system. Narrowing it down to a smaller and closer region, to go to Tokyo and Kyoto, it's about $100 one way. Then, down to my region of Hokuriku, it can be down to $30 or $50 one way to the farthest reaches like Fukui-ken. As the possibility of me traveling was getting smaller and smaller as regions go, I now arrive to my current traveling status: Niikawa, the area including the surrounding towns on this side of the Toyama-ken. Taking the regular JR trains in the region only drops you off in the middle of each town and city, and to take the smaller local train, it can be extremely slow and a bit expensive, and will only take you to smaller town centers. Walking, well, things are a bit too far to just walk. So, the mamachari is my preffered means of transportation. I was given my mamachari by my predecessor immediately upon arrival, but I looked at is disdainfully for a month, and thought it would be silly to ride. However, I soon realized it was just foolish to force myself to walk everywhere. 20 minutes one way to the grocery store, 25 minutes to my favorite bar, 40 minutes to the train station. My biggest and most time consuming travel experiences were limited to these locations, which is pretty lame. Once I finally jumped on my bike, the euphoria hit me instantly, and ever since then I have been flying all around Niikawa, weaving through the streets and popping tires from going off curbs to fast.

Mamachari-do.

In a small town called Kamiichi, which lies a bit closer to the mountains and towards Toyama city, I had heard of a temple with a waterfall that buddhist monks sit under in the coldest throws of winter for spiritual cleansing. I hadn't heard of it until recently, which means its not among this biggest of attractions here, which means that it may still have elements of less popularized locations that I find enticing. At school I asked the social studies teacher, who is also a buddhist priest, and he gave me some very vague information about it in Japanese that was particularly difficult to understand. But I had names of places, and a sense of direction for these kinds of things, and the next free chance I had I was off. That happened to be this weekend.

For those that are determined to proceed with this post, make sure you have the time, and your favorite internet browsing beverage at hand, because you are about to start an adventure that took me up several mountains in search of castle ruins and hidden towns. You may want to stop reading if you do not enjoy epic adventures across foreign lands and deep into the soul. For those that continue, thank you and enjoy!

Friday night we had stayed up late playing poker, and I had the idea to wake up casually the next day and start my trip after noon sometime. But that Saturday morning I woke up around 8:30. I looked at the clock, got a drink of water, and tried to convince myself to get more sleep. But I couldn't. Despite feelings of grogginess, something was forcing me up. For years I have been trying to get up earlier to do something "productive", usually in the form of martial arts or traveling, and in this case, it may be a sign of its fruition. I talked with my parents on skype for a bit, and around 10:45, it was time to go. On my last bike trip to Unazuki, I had talked to my mom on skype before, and it is becoming a bit of a pre-adventure ritual that seems to help me on my way.

Into the increasingly hot and humid early Japanese summer, and through the rice-fields I cruise!

Here is a picture of the dojo where I practice aikido from the backside. On my way towards the mountains.

There are small rice-fields connected to the majority of houses all throughout Kurobe, but once you start heading to the outer-reaches, the houses become less and the rice-fields become much bigger. If you're heading to the mountains, you can see wide rice-fields in amazing terraces. This is a picture of an Obaachan (old woman) working the fields. I was able to get a lot of good shots like this today. But I have to admit that I passed-up many oppurtunities due to an uneasiness I have about taking people's pictures. Perhaps this is one thing that will forever keep me from photo journalism. The thought of traveling to third world countries and taking candid pictures of the local people just turns my stomach. So here in Kurobe, I would be cruising down these small roads between the rice-fields with blonde hair, shorts, sunglasses, on my mamachari; all of which are about as rare as I am in Kurobe. So my presence was usually always noticed, and so my pictures of such instances are pretty rare.

When I head from my apartment towards the mountains, I'm starting to find a routine of routes I take, and this time I came across a park I had visited many months back. It was closed at the time, but now it was open, and I discovered quite a gem hidden in Kurobe.
I think these are cherry-blossom trees, and if I'm right, this place must explode in pink wonder during hanami; cherry blossom viewing season.

With a huge sloping hill and wide grassy lawns, this would be absolutley ideal for beer, lounging in the sun, and frisbee. Or even cheap snowboarding during winter? I couldn't believe my eyes when I found this place, because like all of the most amazing parks in this country, they are somehow hidden and tucked away, and thus very hard to find without prior knowledge or an adventurous spirit. I am 99% sure no other gaijin in the area know about this. Maybe I can open it up to them. I have no idea what this is, but it looks very Japanese to me, and very cool. More interesting Japanese park structures. I'm really going to miss this when I leave someday. So much quality and individuality put into each and every park that hardly anyone visits. Certainly more than just a bench and a barbecue.

Back on the road. I have a loooong way to go. My last trip to Unazuki was the longest yet. One way with no stops it would take between one and one and a half hours, but this one to Kamiichi would easily be twice as long. However, it was in a direction I had never been on my bike before, so I knew there were going to be a lot of side-trips. Actually, this is an important thing to know about me when I go somewhere new. When I explore, I tend to go uphill, towards any enticing distraction, and get easily turned around. I am coming to believe I have quite a nose for these interesting paths, but that has little to do with staying on task. Beware travelers accompanying Gaijin.

For instance, this tunnel is certainly not going to get me to Kamiichi ... but how could you not go through!? Always towards the light at the end of the tunnel right?

Ah, just as I thought, an overgrown road to nothing! This does give me a great happiness as I become nostalgic of my home on Orcas Island, where such roads are more common than those regularly used. From here I turn around, and find another way. Oh, what's this? "Please ... blah blah blah ... blah blah blah." I'm sure it's something really important, but I can't read it. That sums up a lot about my kanji (Chinese characters in Japanese language) proficiency. I can read some things, but if it's important, I can only tell the overall message it's trying to convey. This says to please do or do not do something. Whatever. I'm just a silly gaijin anyway. I have yet to find myself in trouble with authority and claim no Japanese language or cultural knowledge, while playing the silly stupid gaijin card. This was an awesome downhill cruise; that led to some generic industrial compound. I would have to ride my mamachari all the way back up. If you somehow skimmed over my description of a mamachari earlier, I mentioned it was a "heavy-ass, one-speed bike." If you haven't had the experience of riding such a bike uphill, well, it's a bit taxing. And yet ... this is all part of mamachari-do! Ying and Yang, for every up there is a down, and each with their own qualities. It is a philosophy of self-sufficiency, and there are no escalators or lifts to carry such a practitioner up hills.

Wow, uphill on the mamachari in 80 degree weather is awesome! This is part of the euphoria of physical suffering that comes from such a spiritual practice. At this point, I couldn't be more wet if I had jumped in the Pacific Ocean. I was swimming in sweat all the way to the top. Upward and onward.

Ah, rest at the top of this level was sweet. Here is a view of the lowland area where Kurobe and it's neighboring towns rest. Just beyond is the ocean, and a bit further, you can sometimes see the Ishikawa peninsula stretching out across the ocean. However, on this kind of day, it's a bit too hazy to sea. I'm not used to such effects, as the summers where I grew up were not humid at all. Is this lack of visibility due to humidity? I'm not sure.At this point, I have certainly gone uphill towards the mountains, but slightly in the opposite direction of Kamiichi, which requires me to go parallel with the ocean for a couple of hours. But I know that I'm on the right path to somewhere because of this bear warning sign. Follow these and you'll find cool spots.

Ah! This is a beautiful sign! In mamachari-do, this is a reward of sorts for you hard work. 7% downgrade runs make that inchi-by-inch uphill peddaling worth the while.

With the rice-fields, towering mountains, and bear signs, it's easy to forget that you're in a fairly industrial part of Japan. In fact, the home of YKK, as well as other large industrial and technological companies such as this Panasonic one. The parking lot was fairly full, which meant there were thousands of Japanese pounding away towards an over-worked lifestyle for national commercial success. It makes me cringe, and so I pedal on.
Here ends Phase One of the journey, and the beginning of another: Matsukura Castle. A castle? I know enough about traveling in Japan that if there is a legitimate castle around, everyone knows about it and it will be the focus of many tourist pamphlets. I've never heard anything about such a castle in tiny po-dunk Niikawa, which only means I must inquire.

The road become little more than one lane, and wound upwards towards the mountains in highly forested areas. I had no idea such a place or route existed, and slowly I realize there is much more to this area than I had never known. Where would this road go? Why is it here? And what am I doing on this mamachari in such hot weather up seemingly endless winding roads? I'm supposed to be going to Kamiichi anyway, and this was not the way.

About 30 minutes of snail-pace upward struggle finally revealed signs of civilization, and a potential end to my search for this unknown castle.

There were no more signs in English about a castle, but at this point it seemed to be about the 8 kilometers the first sign had told me. The road wound up to this small village. Again with the questions: What is this place? How come I have never heard of this? What are the people doing here? Before this trip I was under the impression that human settlement in Niikawa was limited to the main towns like Kurobe that went across the coast. But now I am seeing when you go away from the ocean and towards the mountains, there are many more small anonymous towns. I followed the signs which Ithink signified the main attraction of the town, maybe the castle, and it lead me here. The castle? It was certainly a center of sorts, with some cultural importance, but it was locked, and I was there to ponder to myself, if this was a building on the remains of a castle, if I had followed the right road, and what the sign said above the bike in the picture. Exhausted, I sat on those steps, and let the frenzy inside of me settle in the silence of this early-afternoon.Unknown towns surrounded by unknown forests in unknown mountains. I felt as though I was in another world and I had only slightly strayed from the borders I call home. I wonder if any gaijin had ever sat on these steps as I had. I wonder how many Japanese who lived ten minutes away by car even knew this place existed. Everyone could marvel knowing the second highest mountain in Japan was in the mountain range that was so close, but other than that, little attention is put in this direction. Metaphorically speaking, It seems everyone gets to the lodge at the base of the mountain and cries, "We made it! Look at us! Hey honey, take a picture of me. Wow, this is definately going to be my profile pic on Facebook. Man, I need a soda. Ooh, look, thise vending machine's hot dogs are only $10. Geez, I'm really tired, let's get home before Idol is on." I grew frustrated with this thought. All I could think of were the limitations of the stupididy of mankind. Why? In this Age of Information, if something is important, then it will have its own entry in Wikipedia and will have a website. Therefore, one should go to it and take a picture with it. Perhaps older "savage" civilizations were right when they thought a picture would steal something's spirit. Perhaps the most amazing people and things on the planet were hiding in such mountains. Perhaps it requires effort and determination to find something special. The cultivation of spirit requires work and individual discovery. I looked at my mamachari and smiled.


I began my departure from this town, but as I was headed out, I thought I could spend the 60 seconds it would take to cover the breadth of the town on my bike. The end of the road led to a small shrine, which actually, was one of the most intricate and beautiful one's I have ever seen.


This is but only one of a few intricate carvings on the shrine. I could only imagine the time and skill needed to make such a beautiful carving. It was not in some gift shop to be marketed, but on a shrine in this far-removed town.


I rarely perform the Shinto ritual which is often done at such shrines, but I believed it would be appropriate here. Really, its a few claps and bows, not much to ask for. Though the large and more popular temples in Japan are of Buddhist origin, I love these Shinto shrines the most. There are many in every town in Japan, and rarely visited.

It was time to leave this place and resume my journey to Kamiichi. The half hour I spent pedaling up to this location, would now reveal an epic downhill flight!

Half-way down I noticed a small bridge and path into the woods. I stopped to inquire, and found a wondrous overgrown path to somewhere. This is precisely the kind of adventure I like most. However, I only looked and appreciated it, as today called for something different. Maybe next time.

Here ends phase two: Maybe Matsukura Castle.

I glided down the hill that was so menacing before, and was blessed by the wind that blew my hair back.

And yet, at the bottom of that hill, was the beginning of another.



I uttered an explicative common to such instances, snorted sweat and snot out with a gruff, and began another ascent.

In Japan, many police and construction signs are marked by cute little woodland animals such as raccoons, frogs, monkeys, and moles like this. I think it has quite a different connotation than ... pigs.


At this time, I had made some progress towards my goal, and found a sign for another potential side trip. Ruins of Masaguta Castle ... only 1.9 km? Sure! My optimism was beaming from a recent downhill section. Here begins, Phase Three: Ruins of Masugata Castle.


What looked flat from the sign, soon shot upwards through rice fields. This would be a 1.9 km straight uphill. More sweat, more pedaling. At this point in the journey I have developed quite a technique for getting up these hills which sends my torso bobbing to each side of the bike each time my foot completes a pedal. Hunched over the handlebars on my bike, I can see my fleshy lungs from the inside, filling, emptying, and my heart surging blood to keep this organic engine pumping. All of these separate gears of organs and powering limbs urged on by the spirit of mamachari-do.


Signs of the castle! This must be one of the chariots Niikawa samurai rode in 15th century feudal Japan.
Soon I reached the top of what I could see, and found evidence of attractions. This marker, a covered area with picnic tables, and maybe one of the only drinking fountains in all of Japan. In Japan you can easily find vending machines with a various assortments of drinks, yet a drinking fountain is really a rare sight.

I dismounted my mamachari with an authority that accompanies the premonitions of a victory of sorts, and started up a path to the ruins on foot.

Here it is! The ruins of Masugata Castle! Wow, these trip is really redefining my idea of what a castle can be.

Oh wait! There is a samurai! Let's ask him.

He muttured something unintelligible from an ancient language, so I turned around to gaze upon this mountain spot. Something called me toward the forest and I started walking where there was no path. All I could think of was how exciting it would be trail blaze through such mysterious territory, when all of a sudden, a crash from the woods made me shriek and leap, and I looked over to see some medium-large black figure leap away from my direction into the forest. What the f*&^ was that!? Seriously, it was definately not a deer, and I'm pretty sure not a bear. In fact, it looked like a huge pig. Wild Japanese boar? I don't know, but I became very nervous about being alone in the woods and quickly biked away.

A glorious downhill glide brought me back to more ricefields and flat land.

The difference between Tokyo and Kurobe is, that when you walk down the street in Tokyo, you see tall sharp businessman headed towards the most profitable and serious of endeavors, and when you walk down the street in Kurobe, you see ojiisan and obaasan (old men and women, think image of elderly grandmothers and grandfathers), all of which are afflicted by the most distortioning of hunched-over backs. I wonder as to the transition period between the 40 and 50 year old black haired straight backed Japanese, to these more horizontal than vertical ojiisan and obaasan. Well, it's clearly from working the rice-fields there entire lives. This is extremely hard work, requiring you to wade knee deep in water while you're hunched over placing thousands upon thousands of seeds into the mud. In modern Japan, the young adults flock to the cities for business oppurtunities and dreams of eccentric city life, which leaves work in temples and fields for those of generations past. What is happening to this part of Japanese culture? Who will tend the temples and fields when these toiling wonders of the old ways are gone?


Maybe the streets will be lined with abandoned granny wagons? What? This is weird. Earlier I had climbed this hill and passed an obaasan on a similar vehicle, and now coming back, I find it abandoned on the side of this one lane road. With no sign of it's rider, I wonder if like Yoda, she disappeared into the Force.

By this point, I had probably only made it a third of the way to my goal of Kaimiichi, and had already spent 4 hours climbing three mountains to castles that didn't seem to exist. Time to get some Ramen, and get on the road.

With my goal being the Buddhist meditation waterfall that I think is called Nisseki-ji near Kamiichi, my notion of its location was a bit too foggy, so I bothered some locals in a barbershop for directions. An old man grumbled something, and who seemed to be the wife took me outside and revealed the way. "Arigatou gozaimashita!"

Pedal gaijin, pedal, pedal, pedal. Hot sun burning skin. Legs tired from mountains climbed. Body leaking sweat and quickly depleting vital fluids. Pedal, pedal, pedal.

Kamiichi! I eventually arrived, and found that there were a quite a few different famous sites, so I followed to the signs to what I thought would lead me to Nisseki-ji. But along the way I saw a sign for something else that had a cool name, and the path lead upwards into the woods, so I would have to make just one more detour before the climax.


This was definately one of the most appealing of roads I had been on so far. It's not so often in this area that you have large forest immediately off the edge of the road, but here it was, and the afternoon light beamed through the trees for a mystical effect.

This was a steep hill, and my legs were so tired I had to resort to walking my bike most of the way. Up this hill, to what? The name was interesting, but I wasn't sure exactly what it was. All I knew is that it had the kanji that read "Dai" which means great or big, and that was enough to pull me up the hill.



Well, this is what I came to, and it sure looked a lot more castley than anything I had seen before. The doors at the base were locked, which was a pity, but I investigated the building from the outside as much as needed, and admired the viewpoint. Patience was dwindling for the end of the journey, but the idea of a downhill cruise through the woodland road gave me a surge of excitement. Next stop, Nisseki-ji ... or whatever it is I'm going to find.

I followed the signs down the main road all the way to it's end, where it became a small one lane road into the woods and up a mountain. Here, there was only a small building that smelled of onsen, and a few cars parked outside. I walked around the building and came back to the front to read the kanji: Nisseki-ji. This is where buddhists come to pray?

I walked inside, and it looked more and more like an onsen. As I entered, a small old man shuffled around and went behind the main desk. We both looked at each other confused. Our conversation began in Japanese:

"Is this Nisseki-ji?"

"Hai."

"Is this an onsen?"

"Hai."

"What's further up the road?"

"Mountains."

"Umm, are there any temples?"

"There's nothing up there."

"What's up there?"

"Mountains."

"This is an onsen?"

"Hai."

"Oh."

"Oh. ... Do you want to enter the onsen?"

"Uhh ... Yes, but later. Not yet. Ummm ... I'll return."

Confused looks, a few bows, and a few thank yous. I went outside to gather myself and try to figure out what was going on. This was certainly not a place where buddhist monks come in the winter to pray under a waterfall, and it must be around here somewhere. I have found that often old men in this country are by far the least reliable source for such information. So I decided to proceed up the hill on the one lane road a bit to see what I could find.

I pushed my bike up the hill, and found two signs. One pointed to something in one direction that led up for 2 km, and the other way was something that denoted a temple that was 10 km up. I decided it was too far, and started back down the hill. Then 10 seconds later, I told myself I had to go up and see. Then, 20 seconds later, I changed my mind again and stopped and sat on the ground to think.


My clothes were drenched with sweat while I was still having a continuous flow of sweat from my pours. My arms looked red and my face felt burnt. I had no more water. I certainly could not bike up any more hills, and at the least would resort to pushing the bike. It was almost 5:00 and I had been riding for about 6 hours. The next possible point of attraction that could maybe be the temple I was searching for was probably the one another 10 km up. And if this would end up like the rest of my escapades, I would find nothing resembling a temple. What more could I ask for than an onsen to mark the climax of the trip. And so with that, I crawled upon my bike and floated down to the onsen, to meet the old man once again, and enter the onsen.

When I got inside to change, I took off my clothes and looked in the mirror to find quite a sight! It was me, but greatly distorted by the trip. My face was very burnt, except where my sun glasses were, and my neck and arms had become so red compared to the rest of my body which hasn't seen the sun since last September, and I had what was the most amazing farmer's tan that has ever been found on my body. From the sweat and wind, my hair shot up into a flat top, making me look like Guile from Street Fighter, and I stunk very badly. The old man I asked questions of was probably too shocked by this gaijin to communicate effectively, and I got more strange looks than usual when I got in the onsen.

As a matter of fact, this has become my second favorite onsen to Kintaro, though it was very small. Something of the ambiance, and perhaps my experience, made this an especially nice onsen trip. I actually liked the sensation created from the burn on my arms reacting in the sulfurous water. One Japanese man attempted to talk to me, but I had absolutley no clue at all what came out of his mouth, and so I said some key phrases I've learned to use in such situations to keep a conversation going though I understood nothing.

After the onsen, I drank a bottle of water, a bottle of lemon vitamin water, and a bottle of cold oolong tea from the vending machine, and began to muster what it would take to make the straight road back to Kurobe.


Like most trips, I always forget that I have to get home, and so I was left with what ended up being another hour and a half ride up and down a few hills to my home in Kurobe. I had much to reflect upon. What had I seen today? Maybe two ruins of castles, some outlook tower, and paths to things I don't know through towns nobody knows exists outside of their small populations? What would I tell people when I get back? What really happened?

As a matter of fact, I met with a few other friends to play poker that night. They laughed at my burn, and couldn't believe I rode my bike to Kamiichi. I tried to explain that it was much more than that, and I had followed paths into the mountains to castle ruins and found towns they've never heard of. But they just laughed at the raccoon eyes made from my sunglasses, and wondered why I was crazy enough just to ride my bike to Kamiichi. To them, nothing existed beyond two streets from the main road.

I can't wait until Monday when I still have a sunburn on my face and I probably have realistically over one hundred Japanese people ask me about what happened to my face.

I drank a lot of beer, and lost a bit of money at poker. We watched some of the World Cup. I was a content gaijin.

What are we to make of such experiences? How could anyone understand their significance? Most of my friends here know I do aikido, but they certainly don't know how important it is to its practitioners. I haven't told anyone in this country about my blog. I have different activities I do with each friend to satisfy different facets of social interaction, but it seems rare to find one quality friend these days.



This journey is mine, and only my own two legs will get the pedals going on my mamachari. Mamachari-do is as serious as any other Japanese art, and I look forward to continuing it's training. But for now, I must rest, be an assistant language teacher at a high school, find a way to get some food and pay bills before payday, and practice aikido. Such is the ebb and flow of a gaijin on the path.

Pieces of a Puzzle: Japanese and American culture

Today I had a realization that seemed to explain my birth into modern day American culture as well as having a strong interest in Japanese culture.

Spiritually inclined, yet dissatisfied with the forms of Christianity I have seen, which are most common in my home of the United States, I have always searched out foreign satiation for my "higher" questions. To this point, I have found religious and cultural stimuli from Japan the most enticing, and for that reason may possibly be an explanation for my presence here in Japan now.

However, since arriving here to this mecca, I have run into a myriad of disturbing and contradicting information. There are so many cultural quirks that may have seemed cute, funny, or silly at first, but have really started to reveal themselves as great defects in a society. The seeming lack of personal interaction, the constant fear of shame, conditioned conservatism, endless work-loads, extra obligations, etc.

I have approached reading the book, "Bushido: the Soul of Japan" by Inazo Nitobe with a great amount of reverence and awe, but have finished without the Answer. It was one of the most illuminating books I have read on the connections between martial arts and Japanese culture, but alas, it contained many contradictions and incongruities that have only given me more questions.

What is it with these contradictions and incongruities? Why doesn't it make sense? Right now?!

Well, I don't know. But I did figure something interesting out today:

(please forgive and ask questions about any generalizations you find unwarranted)

Western culture, and American culture to be more specific here, generally fosters it's population to be independent, and ennobilizes "free-thinking" and individuality. It's religions (most often Christianity, Judaism, and Islam), however, seem to give strict black-and-white answers to spiritual questions, and asks for a blind faith which in my eyes inherently limits it's follower. This is an interesting difference between American culture and religion.

Eastern culture, Japanese to be more specific, on the other hand, seems to do the complete opposite. Socially, it chains it's population with so many rules and limitations that it most often fosters subordination to the group and it's leaders. Spiritually though, Buddhism and Shinto blow the cosmos open to individual interpretation and urges its followers to find one's own individual enlightenment.

I realized this today when I found that I have been fighting an uphill battle by struggling to get my Japanese high school students to form their own opinions and volunteer in class, as well as my own battles in trying to find answers in Japanese metaphysics.

I seek the beauty of individual thinking and spiritual mysteries. Perhaps they are not Japanese or American, Eastern or Western, boxing or Aikido, quesadillas or sashimi.

I leave you with this excerpt about Bushido written by Inazo Nitobe in his book, "Bushido: the Soul of Japan":

"Having no set dogma or formula to defend, it can afford to disappear as an entity; like the cherry blossom, it is willing to die at the first gust of the morning breeze. But a total extinction will never be its lot. Who can say that stoicism is dead? It is dead as a system; but it is alive as a virtue: its energy and vitality are still felt through many channels of life-in the philosophy of Western nations, in the jurisprudence of all the civilized world. Nay, wherever man struggles to raise himself above himself, wherever his spirit masters his flesh by his own exertions, there we see the immortal discipline of Zeno at work.

"Bushido as an independent code of ethics may vanish, but its power will not perish from the earth; its schools of martial prowess or civic honour may be demolished, but its light and its glory will long survive their ruins. Like its symbolic flower, after it is blown to the four winds, it will still bless mankind with the perfume with which it will enrich life. Ages after, when its customaries will have been buried and its very name forgotten, its fragrance will come floating in the air as from a far-off, unseen hill, 'the wayside gave beyond';-then in the beautiful language of the Quaker poet,

"'The traveller owns the grateful sense
Of sweetness near, he knows not whence,
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare
The benediction of the air.'"

Seppuku: Ritual Suicide

Here we will talk about another topic from the book, "Bushido: the Soul of Japan," which has been introduced in a previous entry on Gaijin Explorer called "Thoughts on Japanese Etiquette." Below is an excerpt from "Bushido: the Soul of Japan," on the topic of seppuku, traditional Japanese suicide as practiced by samurai. As a matter of fact, it is an excerpt from another book called, "Tales of Old Japan", and notes the account of a foreigner who personally witnessed a seppuku ritual. After reading much about Japanese culture, this is the first such account I have ever come across.

"We (seven foreign representatives) were invited to follow the Japanese witnesses into the hondo, or main hall of the temple, where the ceremony was to be performed. It was an imposing scene. A large hall with a high roof supported by dark pillars of wood. From the ceiling hung a profusion of those huge gilt lamps and ornaments peculiar to Buddhist temples. In front of the high altar, where the floor, covered with beautiful white mats, is raised some three or four inches from the ground, was laid a rug of scarlet felt. Tall candles placed at regular intervals gave out a dim mysterious light, just sufficient to let all the proceedings be seen. The seven Japanese took their places on the left of the raised floor, the seven foreigners on the right. No other person was present.

"After the interval of a few minutes of anxious suspense, Taki Zenzaburo, a stalwart man thirty-two years of age, with a noble air, walked into the hall attired in his dress of ceremony, with the peculiar hempen-cloth wings which are worn on great occasions. He was accompanied by a kaishaku and three officers, who wore the jimboari or war surcoat with gold tissue facings. The word kaishaku, it should be observed, is one to which our word executioner is no equivalent term. The office is that of a gentleman; in many cases it is performed by a kinsman or friend of the condemned, and the relation between them is rather that of principal and second than that of victim and executioner. In this instance, the kaishaku was a pupil of Taki Zenzaburo, and was selected by friends of the latter from among their own number for his skill in swordsmanship.

"With the kaishaku on his left hand, Taki Zenzaburo advanced slowly toward the Japanese witnesses, and the two bowed before them, then drawing near to the foreigners they saluted us in the same way, perhaps even with more deference; in each case the salutation was ceremoniously returned. Slowly and with great dignity the condemned man mounted on to the raised floor, prostrated himself before the high altar twice, and seated himself on the felt carpet with his back to the high altar, the kaishaku crouching on his left-hand side. One of the three attendant officers then came forward, bearing a stand of the kind used in the temple for offerings, on which, wrapped in paper, lay the wakizashi, the short sword or dirk of the Japanese, nine inches and a half in length, with a point and an edge as sharp as a razor's. This he handed, prostrating himself, to the condemned man, who received it reverently raising it to his head with both hands, and placed it in front of himself.

"After another profound obeisance, Taki Zenzaburo, in a voice which betrayed just so much emotion and hesitation as might be expected from a man who is making a painful confession, but with no sign of either in his face or manner, spoke as follows:-

"'I, and I alone, unwarrantably gave the order to fire on the foreigners at Kobe, and again as they tried to escape. For this crime I disembowel myself, and I beg you who are present to do me the honour of witnessing the act.'

"Bowing once more, the speaker allowed his upper garments to slip down to his girdle, and remained naked to the waist. Carefully, according to custom, he tucked his sleeves under his knees to prevent himself from falling backward; for a noble Japanese gentleman should die falling forwards. Deliberately with a steady hand he took the dirk that lay before him; he looked at it wistfully, almost affectionately; for a moment he seemed to collect his thoughts for the last time, and then stabbing himself deeply below the waist in the left-hand side, he drew the dirk slowly across to his right side, and turning it in the wound, gave a slight cut upwards. During this sickeningly painful operation he never moved a muscle of his face. When he drew out the dirk, he leaned forward and stretched out his neck; an expression of pain for the first time crossed his face, but he uttered no sound. At that moment the kaishaku, who still crouching by his side, had been keenly watching his every movement, sprang to his feet, poised his sword for a second in the air; there was a flash, a heavy ugly thud, a crashing fall; with one blow the head had been severed from the body.

"A dead silence followed, broken only by the hideous noise of the blood throbbing out of the inert heap before us, which but a moment before had been a brave and chivalrous man. It was horrible."

Well ... what do you think?

Seppuku was a legal and ceremonial ritual that was performed when a samurai wished to "expiate their crimes, apologize for errors, escape from disgrace, redeem their friends, or prove their sincerity." To my knowledge the ritual is perfomed as is recounted in the passage above, and as you may have noticed, seppuku is not just stabbing yourself in the stomach with a knife to die, but the ideal follows that you would cut across your belly from left to right, and then upwards making an L-shape incision. To do so without a sound and with your eyes open was of the noblest kind, anything less would reveal weakness. An interesting thought is that by opening the bowels, one reveals to it's viewers the person's true virtue; one can judge the purity and honesty of a man by literally seeing his guts.

I wonder how many thousands or millions of Japanese have committed seppuku in history.

I have read widely on this subject, and Mr. Nitobe's writing is certainly the best I've come across. For those curious for more information, I highly recommend you to read his book, "Bushido: the Soul of the Samurai." I take fancy with so many traditions from Japan, perhaps more so than any other culture in the world, but I do not understand seppuku. I can conceive to try to understand a human's suicide, but this one of seppuku that was so highly revered and institutionalized by feudal Japan reveals nothing of merit to me. Thoughts of the story of Abraham from the Bible pass through my mind. Abraham, the man who was asked by God to kill his own son, which was carried out until the last second when God said that it was not necessary and the task was merely a test of his faith. In all honesty, what the fuck? It is said that wisdom of Japan is not wisdom to acquire but experience to feel, and the same could be said for Christianity, and so I may never penetrate the Greatness of these acts of killing. And you know what? I think that's fine. When I think of bushido, I think of purifying oneself to experience higher levels of existence through right conduct in our seemingly dirty and chaotic world. I have grand images of loyalty and honor; loyalty and honor to the life I am lucky enough to have. I will honorably follow my life to the end, but that end will not be of my own hand.

Thoughts On Etiquette in Japanese Culture

You're lucky tonight because they're not just mine, but also those of Inazo Nitobe. Mr. Nitobe was unarguably one of the best writers on Japanese culture, and is most famous for his book, "Bushido: the Soul of Japan." He was born into an old samurai family in 1862 in northern Japan. Though his father and grandfather died early on in Mr. Nitobe's life, he was raised by his mother and uncle, and was always reminded of the honor his heritage was known by. His life would be one of international education and deep study. Universities that Mr. Nitobe studied and taught at were: Sapporo Agricultural School, Tokyo Imperial University, Johns Hopkins University, an agricultural school in Germany, University of Halle, Kyoto Imperial University, and the First National College in Tokyo. This does not include the list of schools where he guest lectured, and does not include the many groups and councils he was part of, or the essays and books that he published.

What we are dealing with here is someone from the highest calibur of education the world could offer in his time, as well as someone from an old samurai family that would greatly effect the morals and philosophies of the worldly thinker. I think Mr. Nitobe's writing is absolutley beautiful and amazingly expressive of both emotion and factual detail. I think everyone concerned with the origins and meanings of martial arts should read his book, "Bushido: the Soul of Japan." However, I'm not sure everyone would enjoy it. The book is written in a scholarly style that is not regularly found in what most consider martial art books. In fact, it's not exactly about the martial arts of budo, but about the connections between the life of budo and the rest of the Japanese, as well as comparisons with other forms of warriorship in the world, especially those of the Occident. In this book, you read more about the social and cultural reasoning of why the samurai lived as they did, and how that affects Japanese culture.

Here I will highlight some of Mr. Nitobe's thoughts that deal with "etiquette" in Japanese culture.

Each country may have it's own factors that culturally shock it's foreign visitors, and I bet most of those gaijin who come to Japan find that it's usually with matters of politeness and courtesy (or maybe just weird pickled vegetables). Perhaps you walked into a room with your shoes when you weren't supposed to. Maybe you took a drink of your beer as soon as it was handed to you by the waitress, but you didn't wait to make your first drink a cheers with everyone else at the table. Or maybe even you answered your phone on a subway. All of these usually are accompanied by a gasp by the Japanese in close proximity as if someone was twisting their spine from the inside of their bodies. Actually a couple of my favorites are not walking on designated paths or sidewalks that wind unneccesarily, or trying to joke with Japanese, which always ends in confusion and some rule of conduct being broken. But anyway, let's hear a little bit from Mr. Nitobe:


"I have heard slighting remarks made by Europeans upon our elaborate discipline of politeness. It has been criticized as absorbing too much of our thought and in so far a folly to observe strict obedience to it. I admit that there may be unnecessary niceties in ceremonious etiquette, but whether it partakes as much of folly as the adherence to ever-changing fashions of the West, is a question not very clear to my mind. Even fashions I do not consider solely as freaks of vanity; on the contrary, I look upon these as a ceaseless search of the human mind for the beautiful."

These "certain slighting remarks" can very often expressed through great frustration. For me that's the length of meetings at school extended much longer due to "unnecessary niceties." For the same reasons, I am also kept from having some meaningful conversations with the Japanese I work with. What do these have to do with a "ceaseless search of the human mind for the beautiful"?


"Much less do I consider elaborate ceremony as altogether trivial; for it denotes the result of long observation as to the most appropriate method of achieving a certain result."

Well, that does seem to be the purpose, or at least a benefit of society.

"If there is anything to do, there is certainly a best way to do it, and the best way is both the most economical and the most graceful."

There is a sentence that should catch the eye of all mindful martial artists.


Mr. Nitobe then goes on to explain this theory through Sadou, the way of tea, as seen in Japan's tea ceremony. Japan has many cultural arts that are highly popularized in modern culture, usually of the martial quality, however I doubt many people would choose to sit through a tea ceremony. Tea ceremonies will often last a few hours, and consist of sitting silently with a few other people in a very small tatami mat room. There, conduct and niceties are strictly outlined and obeyed. For all those people enthralled with the idea of "Zen"; who want to buy products that are labeled "Zen", maybe your "Zen" daily planner, your "Zen" tea, your "Zen" t-shirt, or your "Zen" H4 hummer, maybe you should try to experience what is considered "Zen" in the tea ceremony.


"Mr. Spencer defines grace as the most economical manner of motion. The tea-ceremony presents certain definite ways of manipulating a bowl, a spoon, a napkin, etc. To a novice it looks tedious. But one soon discovers that the way prescribed is, after all, the most saving of time and labour; in other words, the most economical use of force,-hence, according to Spencer's dictum, the most graceful."


Here I think we have a wonderful ideal found in Japanese philosophy: beauty through design. This certainly underlines traditional Japanese culture as we have just read about, but is most certainly a driving factor in many modern facets of Japan. I think one of the most interesting (though I personally know so very little about) is architecture. If one travels to Tokyo, you will be able to see the pinnacle of artists striving to create beauty from design in the modern buildings that surround you. That may be one of my favorite things about Tokyo. Though it may not look similar to traditional culture, the modern creations follow the same theory as that in tea ceremony: beauty from design.


(above picture is from "dcafe" and can be found at http://www.flickr.com/photos/24062854@N04/3454086292/ )


Mr. Nitobe then proceeds to discuss about how this physical economy of motion relates to one's spiritual realm, which does not have a little to do with bushido.


"'The end of all etiquette is to so cultivate your mind that even when you are quietly seated, not the roughest ruffian can dare make onset on your person.' It means, in other words, that by constant exercise in correct manners, one brings all the parts and faculties of his body into perfect order and into such harmony with itself and its environment as to express the mastery of spirit over the flesh. ... If the promise is true that gracefulness means economy of force, then it follows as a logical sequence that a constant practice of graceful deportment must bring with it a reserve and storage of force. Fine manners, therefore, mean power in repose."

Did all you martial artists hear that? "...a constant practice of graceful deportment must bring with it a reserve and storage of force. Fine manners, therefore, mean power in repose." Talk about yin and yang; the warrior must contain the greatest amount of patience and repose where he builds his strengh and must also be able to explode into the fury of mortal combat. Or what about that "storage of force"? For all those with imaginations, where do you think that would physically be in your body? Your brain? Your foot? Or maybe your center, tan-tien, or hara, located a couple inches below your navel and into your body? Very interesting.

Let's return for a moment to the tea ceremony as an explanation of etiquette.

"Tea-sipping as a fine art! Why should it not be? In the children drawing pictures on the sand, or in the savage carving on a rock, was the promise of a Raphael or a Michael Angelo. How much more is the drinking of a beverage, which began with the transcendental contemplation of a Hindoo anchorite, entitled to develop into a handmaid of Religion and Morality? The calmness of mind, that serenity of temper, that composure and quietness of demeanour which are the first essentials of Cha-no-yu (tea ceremony) are without doubt the first conditions of right thinking and right feelings. The scrupulous clealiness of the little room, shut off from sight and sound of the madding crowd, is in itself conducive to direct one's thoughts from the world. ... Before entering the quiet precincts of the tea-room, the company assembling to partake of the ceremony laid aside, together with their swords, the ferocity of battle-field or the cares of government, there to find peace and friendship."

I think that this section well explains one stark difference between ideals of the Occident and those of the Far-East: in Japan one seeks to become the art, not just observe it. In Europe at this time, it would be considered of the highest culture degree to have elaborate paintings by famous artists hanging upon your walls as one plays fine music in the background while you stroll with your friends elaborating at length about the magnificent wonder contained in the things you own. This is contrasted with the silent practice of drinking tea in a seemingly bare room. However, in the tea ceremony, one becomes the art through the experience. From this deep well of strength nurtured by strict forms of etiquette, one's own creative power may emerge and dance with that of the other's in an invisible yet intoxicating realm beyond the crude senses.

Through reading this enlightening book, I hope to find the time to reveal more such thoughts from, "Bushido: The Soul of Japan."