love's a two way dream
I've been lonely, lately-- not a new thing to me, of course, but something I've not felt so keenly for a while now. Perhaps it's to be expected since now begins a time of transitions, and my future is deeply uncertain. I am filled with doubts, and so I look for a distraction from those doubts in other people.
Only to find that no one's there.
I spent my weekend mostly alone-- it was not a bad weekend, but I had hoped for more companionship. Lately I've been rebelling against organizing things because it feels like I'm always doing it, and it would be nice if someone else would. To be invited rather than inviter. And when plans fail to materialize, then I'm sad.
Immature reaction, I told myself. Remember your philosophy of being a responsible adult? Part of that is responsibility for your own well-being, both physical and emotional. You're sad and lonely because you don't have plans-- make some, don't thrust the blame on someone else. That's what responsibility is.
So I sent out an invitation-- last minute, only a day in advance. A responsible adult and a mature adult, I told myself. You can't expect people to be free on a Saturday night at the last minute. Feeling hurt if they aren't would be stupid and immature.
So the refusals that came back were no surprise. Most everyone had plans.
Plans they didn't invite you to, whispered that festering, stupid and immature part of me.
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One wonderful thing about living in Japan is that one so often stumbles across strange and marvelous things on one's travels. All the time.
On Sunday I made my annual pilgrimage to Kitano Tenmangu to pick up a study charm and pray for a renewal of my dedication. And, of course, to see the plum trees in full bloom, since the grounds overflow with them. Unfortunately, the shrine is located quite a distance from the subway station where I was emerging. I decided to walk-- surely the exercise would be good for me.
Along the way I passed another shrine-- well, actually I passed several. This shrine, Shiramine Jingu, had its gate wide open, and some sort of commotion going on in the shrine grounds. Cautiously I entered-- and my geeky heart danced for joy when it beheld an assortment of men and women in hakama playing kemari on the grounds.
Kemari, for those who don't geek out over obscure points of Japanese history and literature, is an ancient game that was popular among the Heian-era nobility. Players form a ring and use their feet to keep a mid-sized deerskin ball in the air. It's mentioned prominently in the Tale of Genji, among others, and occasionally shows up in Heian-era art.
The truth about Kyoto is that there's a shrine or temple devoted to just about everything you can think of. I've been to religious sites devoted to inoshishi (wild boar), cancer (that was Tanuki-dani, also incidentally full of tanuki), exorcism, feet, love, children's games and gambling (. . . yeah. Actually that was a fun one to visit, there were toys all over the place), calligraphy, combs and hair ornaments, luck, shakuhachi . . . this one, as it turns out, was devoted to balls. Well, primarily it was devoted to soccer, but on its altar I also saw golf balls, lacross raquets, baseballs, field hockey sticks, volleyballs, basketballs, and numerous others. There were numerous soccer balls lined up near one of the halls, apparently waiting for a priestly blessing. Pre-blessed volleyballs were for sale right next to charms to protect from sporting injuries, to promote fighting spirit, and to ensure safe childbirth and safety from traffic accidents (ALL temples and shrines have those).
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Sometimes when I'm lonely my thoughts are my refuge, my comfort. But just as often I cannot bear them, cannot bear thinking them. They are too close, they stifle me. They are water in my lungs, steak in my throat, blood in my sinuses. They are a restless horse in a too-small paddock, running endlessly around and around on the same dusty track.
Stop, please stop. I don't want to think you any more. Let me out of this closed thing, this prison, my mind. Let me think someone else's thoughts, let me blot out all that I am with that which is alien to me, let me escape this oppressive thing (myself) and be something, anything else.
Only to find that no one's there.
I spent my weekend mostly alone-- it was not a bad weekend, but I had hoped for more companionship. Lately I've been rebelling against organizing things because it feels like I'm always doing it, and it would be nice if someone else would. To be invited rather than inviter. And when plans fail to materialize, then I'm sad.
Immature reaction, I told myself. Remember your philosophy of being a responsible adult? Part of that is responsibility for your own well-being, both physical and emotional. You're sad and lonely because you don't have plans-- make some, don't thrust the blame on someone else. That's what responsibility is.
So I sent out an invitation-- last minute, only a day in advance. A responsible adult and a mature adult, I told myself. You can't expect people to be free on a Saturday night at the last minute. Feeling hurt if they aren't would be stupid and immature.
So the refusals that came back were no surprise. Most everyone had plans.
Plans they didn't invite you to, whispered that festering, stupid and immature part of me.
xOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOx
One wonderful thing about living in Japan is that one so often stumbles across strange and marvelous things on one's travels. All the time.
On Sunday I made my annual pilgrimage to Kitano Tenmangu to pick up a study charm and pray for a renewal of my dedication. And, of course, to see the plum trees in full bloom, since the grounds overflow with them. Unfortunately, the shrine is located quite a distance from the subway station where I was emerging. I decided to walk-- surely the exercise would be good for me.
Along the way I passed another shrine-- well, actually I passed several. This shrine, Shiramine Jingu, had its gate wide open, and some sort of commotion going on in the shrine grounds. Cautiously I entered-- and my geeky heart danced for joy when it beheld an assortment of men and women in hakama playing kemari on the grounds.
Kemari, for those who don't geek out over obscure points of Japanese history and literature, is an ancient game that was popular among the Heian-era nobility. Players form a ring and use their feet to keep a mid-sized deerskin ball in the air. It's mentioned prominently in the Tale of Genji, among others, and occasionally shows up in Heian-era art.
Click to viewThe truth about Kyoto is that there's a shrine or temple devoted to just about everything you can think of. I've been to religious sites devoted to inoshishi (wild boar), cancer (that was Tanuki-dani, also incidentally full of tanuki), exorcism, feet, love, children's games and gambling (. . . yeah. Actually that was a fun one to visit, there were toys all over the place), calligraphy, combs and hair ornaments, luck, shakuhachi . . . this one, as it turns out, was devoted to balls. Well, primarily it was devoted to soccer, but on its altar I also saw golf balls, lacross raquets, baseballs, field hockey sticks, volleyballs, basketballs, and numerous others. There were numerous soccer balls lined up near one of the halls, apparently waiting for a priestly blessing. Pre-blessed volleyballs were for sale right next to charms to protect from sporting injuries, to promote fighting spirit, and to ensure safe childbirth and safety from traffic accidents (ALL temples and shrines have those).
xOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOxxOx
Sometimes when I'm lonely my thoughts are my refuge, my comfort. But just as often I cannot bear them, cannot bear thinking them. They are too close, they stifle me. They are water in my lungs, steak in my throat, blood in my sinuses. They are a restless horse in a too-small paddock, running endlessly around and around on the same dusty track.
Stop, please stop. I don't want to think you any more. Let me out of this closed thing, this prison, my mind. Let me think someone else's thoughts, let me blot out all that I am with that which is alien to me, let me escape this oppressive thing (myself) and be something, anything else.