(no subject)
I have no classes today, and it's starting to warm up, so I have no excuses not to continue this stupid story. I've tried to give the impression that this place is boring, but in real life, more things happen to me than I will ever be able to recount. It seems I'll be making my singing debut this weekend at a blues club. I've been suckered into this by some female I just met. Luckily for me I have the voice of an angel, and I can pronounce r's and l's. I played the new Gundam game for PS3, months before its North America release. Think Dynasty Warriors but with giant robots. I will arrive in Charlotte on the evening of March 27. Um. I think that's most of what happened in the past few days.
I'm not feeling the creative energy today, but I need to get this done sometime.
Max and I walked down the street marked by signs to the Kamakura Daibutsu. A cliff loomed to our left, and maybe a kilometer to our right stood another mountain. I would find out later the Pacific Ocean was just out of sight in front of us. Immediately beside the road was a line of traditional style houses, each enjoying the view of a century-old bronze Buddha from their back window. It must be quite auspicious to have your morning coffee under the gaze of a meditating bronze statue.
We paid the entrance fee and entered the plaza. Any number of plaques and memorials were scattered through the area, and a few trees rose up from the concrete pavilion. Fountains of life in a field of the inanimate. A French couple was on their way out as we entered. Their glum faces suggested that the experience wasn't as enjoyable as was marketed.
And indeed, it wasn't. The Buddha sat meditating on his pedestal, the green verdigris in a pleasing contrast with the gray sky and the concrete below. A temple to one side sold souvenirs, knickknacks, and omamori protective charms. Max glanced through the magnets, running his mouth about something, while I scanned the other items in stock.
An old man at a table under the left side of the Buddha watched us approach. He appeared to be selling tickets to enter the inside of the statue for the nominal charge of 50 Yen. We paid our fee and made our way down the narrow staircase. Max isn't a tall man, maybe 5'7, but even he was ducking as we squeezed our way down the stairs.
I had no idea how this statue was built before I entered. Now, from the inside, it was clear. Slabs of bronze were cast, then formed together to build the Buddha. It made sense, it just had never warranted any contemplation on my part. A strange energy pervaded the dimly lit room. A tingly feeling in the limbs, as though one of my arms was narcoleptic. I had felt this before in Japan, temples, ramen shops, electronic stores: this feeling was not exclusive to the divine.
"This sucks, man"
"Well, kind of, but I'm only out 50 cents. I bet this was really great 800 years ago"
"Yeah"
We made our way back up the staircase five minutes later. I heard Max cough up something from the depths of his throat and leave it on the floor of the statue. His bout with bronchitis, and his occasional cigarette habit meant that he was often leaving his expectoration in the alleys and dark corners of Japan.
"Someone's going to get really upset with you for that shit one of these days"
"Yeah? And? It's Japan"
We left the statue and the temple complex maybe an hour later. I jiggled my leg as I walked, trying to shake out the sore tingling feeling I had.
"So now what?" I said.
"Let's go to that money-washing temple. I want to wash my money"
"Never heard of it."
The debate continued on our way back towards the station, back towards the money temple and the line of torii gates. Maybe the walk would let me stretch this feeling out of my leg.
----
It's a good thing I don't have any deadlines to meet. The writing urge doesn't come often for me, and when it does, I'm rarely free.
I'm not feeling the creative energy today, but I need to get this done sometime.
Max and I walked down the street marked by signs to the Kamakura Daibutsu. A cliff loomed to our left, and maybe a kilometer to our right stood another mountain. I would find out later the Pacific Ocean was just out of sight in front of us. Immediately beside the road was a line of traditional style houses, each enjoying the view of a century-old bronze Buddha from their back window. It must be quite auspicious to have your morning coffee under the gaze of a meditating bronze statue.
We paid the entrance fee and entered the plaza. Any number of plaques and memorials were scattered through the area, and a few trees rose up from the concrete pavilion. Fountains of life in a field of the inanimate. A French couple was on their way out as we entered. Their glum faces suggested that the experience wasn't as enjoyable as was marketed.
And indeed, it wasn't. The Buddha sat meditating on his pedestal, the green verdigris in a pleasing contrast with the gray sky and the concrete below. A temple to one side sold souvenirs, knickknacks, and omamori protective charms. Max glanced through the magnets, running his mouth about something, while I scanned the other items in stock.
An old man at a table under the left side of the Buddha watched us approach. He appeared to be selling tickets to enter the inside of the statue for the nominal charge of 50 Yen. We paid our fee and made our way down the narrow staircase. Max isn't a tall man, maybe 5'7, but even he was ducking as we squeezed our way down the stairs.
I had no idea how this statue was built before I entered. Now, from the inside, it was clear. Slabs of bronze were cast, then formed together to build the Buddha. It made sense, it just had never warranted any contemplation on my part. A strange energy pervaded the dimly lit room. A tingly feeling in the limbs, as though one of my arms was narcoleptic. I had felt this before in Japan, temples, ramen shops, electronic stores: this feeling was not exclusive to the divine.
"This sucks, man"
"Well, kind of, but I'm only out 50 cents. I bet this was really great 800 years ago"
"Yeah"
We made our way back up the staircase five minutes later. I heard Max cough up something from the depths of his throat and leave it on the floor of the statue. His bout with bronchitis, and his occasional cigarette habit meant that he was often leaving his expectoration in the alleys and dark corners of Japan.
"Someone's going to get really upset with you for that shit one of these days"
"Yeah? And? It's Japan"
We left the statue and the temple complex maybe an hour later. I jiggled my leg as I walked, trying to shake out the sore tingling feeling I had.
"So now what?" I said.
"Let's go to that money-washing temple. I want to wash my money"
"Never heard of it."
The debate continued on our way back towards the station, back towards the money temple and the line of torii gates. Maybe the walk would let me stretch this feeling out of my leg.
----
It's a good thing I don't have any deadlines to meet. The writing urge doesn't come often for me, and when it does, I'm rarely free.