Japan: June 10-19, 2018. Awareness Forever Changed
Travel = Education.
Education changes a person.
This trip, therefore and obviously, has changed me. (In math, btw, we call that a syllogism.)
When I noticed that each Japanese house seemed to have some space that was made especially beautiful by flowers, a trimmed tree, rock garden, or pottery, Takaaki (Our tourguide) said that, "We live so close to each other, we don't want to bother our neighbors with our dirt." This was very consistent with the commitment to generosity and kindness that is part of the Japanese culture. This idea could certainly be expanded to other ideas -- notably the sounds. As I walked by myself down the street my first day in Tokyo, I noticed the quiet. People didn't talk. Cars were either hybrid or electric, so there was no engine noise. No one honked. No one played music; music or any other sounds did not flow from restaurants or businesses or iphones or cars. Communication was restricted to gentle nods at each other, nods that were little bows representing recognition of each other, respect, or a thank you or a you're welcome.
At the end of the first walk was a temple. I walked through the gates, up the stairs. I took off my shoes, walked into the room covered with tatami mats, sat on my legs like the others and silently looked at the altar, an image of Buddha with flowers, incense, gold, and beautiful carvings. I focused on nothing; when a new idea or itch arrived in my head, I recognized it then dismissed it. I was trying to practice Buddhist meditation. Then a woman stood in the doorway behind me, and loudly broke the thick quiet in clear-as-day American English: "Hey Marge, You gotta come look at this." I became hot, embarrassed that I may be linked with her because of my appearance as an American. I slipped out, quietly, respectfully, but with my head low.
Silence and quiet demonstrates respect for others.
Standing at the curbside, waiting to cross the street, I saw that though there was the shape of a red figure lit up in the crosswalk, there were no cars within sight. So I started to jaywalk. I looked at others and saw sharp eye-daggers uniformly directed at me. That was the last time I jaywalked.
When a city is as densely populated as Tokyo, Kyoto, or Osaka, it's really important to draw inside the lines so order is restored. This includes walking inside the lines. Not following protocol, especially on roads, can lead to a dangerous chaos.
Following the rules demonstrates respect for others.
Walking down the street with Paul, I was thirsty. I pulled out my water bottle and downed a slug. Eye-daggers from others on the street gave me pause. I put the bottle away, recognizing that no-one else was drinking water on the street. I didn't drink water on the street again.
In the commuter train from Toki to Nagoya, I was crazy with that pit-of-the-stomach hunger. I reached into my bag and grabbed a chocolate cheeto. As I glanced around, I saw the tell-tale eye-daggers that I had come to recognize as an indication of a violation of a cultural norm. I put the rest of the cheeto away and sat hungry. Never again did I eat in public (except in a restaurant.)
Not eating or drinking in front of others demonstrates respect for others. (Plus, it keeps the sidewalks and subways and public places really clean!)
My change now is that when I walk down the street, I feel conscious of being quiet for others and find myself bristling when I hear others' phone conversations. I'm embarrassed by food wrappers on the ground or spent waterbottles stashed in corners. I hear the cacophony of sounds -- vrroom of engines, honks of horns, a multiplicity of music from different sources, talking people. I think of how my mother used to say it was impolite to eat your food on the table before everyone was served -- it's impolite to eat in front of others.
Perhaps the density of the population means that the deliberate and conscious quiet, cleanliness, and beauty is truly necessary for human sanity. As I walk around a U.S. city, I wonder how much more calm and kind we would be if we respected the airspace, the earth, and each other.
Education changes a person.
This trip, therefore and obviously, has changed me. (In math, btw, we call that a syllogism.)
When I noticed that each Japanese house seemed to have some space that was made especially beautiful by flowers, a trimmed tree, rock garden, or pottery, Takaaki (Our tourguide) said that, "We live so close to each other, we don't want to bother our neighbors with our dirt." This was very consistent with the commitment to generosity and kindness that is part of the Japanese culture. This idea could certainly be expanded to other ideas -- notably the sounds. As I walked by myself down the street my first day in Tokyo, I noticed the quiet. People didn't talk. Cars were either hybrid or electric, so there was no engine noise. No one honked. No one played music; music or any other sounds did not flow from restaurants or businesses or iphones or cars. Communication was restricted to gentle nods at each other, nods that were little bows representing recognition of each other, respect, or a thank you or a you're welcome.
At the end of the first walk was a temple. I walked through the gates, up the stairs. I took off my shoes, walked into the room covered with tatami mats, sat on my legs like the others and silently looked at the altar, an image of Buddha with flowers, incense, gold, and beautiful carvings. I focused on nothing; when a new idea or itch arrived in my head, I recognized it then dismissed it. I was trying to practice Buddhist meditation. Then a woman stood in the doorway behind me, and loudly broke the thick quiet in clear-as-day American English: "Hey Marge, You gotta come look at this." I became hot, embarrassed that I may be linked with her because of my appearance as an American. I slipped out, quietly, respectfully, but with my head low.
Silence and quiet demonstrates respect for others.
Standing at the curbside, waiting to cross the street, I saw that though there was the shape of a red figure lit up in the crosswalk, there were no cars within sight. So I started to jaywalk. I looked at others and saw sharp eye-daggers uniformly directed at me. That was the last time I jaywalked.
When a city is as densely populated as Tokyo, Kyoto, or Osaka, it's really important to draw inside the lines so order is restored. This includes walking inside the lines. Not following protocol, especially on roads, can lead to a dangerous chaos.
Following the rules demonstrates respect for others.
Walking down the street with Paul, I was thirsty. I pulled out my water bottle and downed a slug. Eye-daggers from others on the street gave me pause. I put the bottle away, recognizing that no-one else was drinking water on the street. I didn't drink water on the street again.
In the commuter train from Toki to Nagoya, I was crazy with that pit-of-the-stomach hunger. I reached into my bag and grabbed a chocolate cheeto. As I glanced around, I saw the tell-tale eye-daggers that I had come to recognize as an indication of a violation of a cultural norm. I put the rest of the cheeto away and sat hungry. Never again did I eat in public (except in a restaurant.)
Not eating or drinking in front of others demonstrates respect for others. (Plus, it keeps the sidewalks and subways and public places really clean!)
My change now is that when I walk down the street, I feel conscious of being quiet for others and find myself bristling when I hear others' phone conversations. I'm embarrassed by food wrappers on the ground or spent waterbottles stashed in corners. I hear the cacophony of sounds -- vrroom of engines, honks of horns, a multiplicity of music from different sources, talking people. I think of how my mother used to say it was impolite to eat your food on the table before everyone was served -- it's impolite to eat in front of others.
Perhaps the density of the population means that the deliberate and conscious quiet, cleanliness, and beauty is truly necessary for human sanity. As I walk around a U.S. city, I wonder how much more calm and kind we would be if we respected the airspace, the earth, and each other.
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