King George gazing at himself in delight
King George is less enamored by Bob's Bug
In Flight--spectacular on San Marino Ave. behind us
The lady next door--gorgeous peahen
Winter next door--looking ahead toward mating season
On our balcony
My pick for most gorgeous this year: Adonis
This year's block party
Arboretum Mating Season 2019
(2009)
Oshogatsu--
My first impression of Japanese new year was of how very, very quiet it was.
Until more recent times, the Japanese calendar was based on the Chinese solar-lunar calendar, so oshogatsu fell closer to the spring equinox—like the Chinese New Year of today. Therefore, it was both a celebration of the new year, but also a welcoming back of spring (and new life).
In spite of its obvious celebratory mood, for me it will always be the Quiet Holiday. And that is saying a lot in a country that is pretty quiet anyway-- well at least compared to Hong Kong!
Lasting several days, it is as if the entire country has been blanketed in a heavy snowfall.
**
The First Day of the First Month-- in addition to its names referring to the coming of Spring-- 新春、猛春、開春—the old calendar term for January was “mutsuki” 睦月. Mutsu means "intimate, harmonious or friendly," so mutsuki signifies that this was month "when people come together." It’s true, for even today, oshogatsu above all is a time for families to re-connect, as all over Japan, people return in great waves—emptying out of the cities—to return to their hometowns.
When I lived in Tokyo, I always thought the city felt almost like a ghost town during the New Year holiday--even Tokyo Station emptied out.
In Japan, it is also a time of reflection and contemplation, and I think it was this aspect of the holiday that drew me in so deeply when I first arrived in Japan. Of course, in America, we make our New Year’s Resolutions, but that is perhaps the extent of the contemplative aspect of the holiday. For most Americans, I think New Year is a great party. A celebration of what will probably be another great year.
In Japan, perhaps more in common with Easter, the coming of spring is of course a reference to new life and the ability to renew; to be re-born. And, the holiday is marked by its reference to “the firsts”—
The first dream 初夢
The first glance in the mirror 初鏡
The first visit to the Shrine 初詣
The first bath 初湯
The first smile 初笑
Along with spring, the self is also reborn and one should experience all the blessings in life as if they were happening for the first time. Contemplation underpins this holiday in a way I wouldn’t have been able to imagine had I not gone and lived there. And I love that. You look at your image in the mirror all the time. The First Glance in the Mirror, however, urges you to step back, empty your mind and really look. 改めてみること。Look again; look deeper, and look with a clear heart explains my favorite book of Japanese seasons.
Mirrors have long played a religious role in Japan. Like many cultures, the Japanese thought they had the power to show a person’s soul. Symbolizing wisdom, one of the Three Sacred Treasures (三種の神器) of the Japanese Imperial family from the beginning of time in Japan has been a mirror. Mirrors are also a symbol of Japanese New Year in the form of glimmering white and transparent mochi. The most popular New Year’s decoration, kagami mochi 鏡餅、is just as the name implies in Japanese, “mirror rice cakes.” Long ago, they were solely offerings traditionally made at shrines and temples. White rice cakes like mirrors to reflect the image of god as well as the soul of the person making the offering.
Oshogatsu requires a lot of preparation. Not just cooking but traditionally women spent a lot of time cleaning their homes to start the year pristine as possible....
In addition to the cleaning, there are the foods to arrange and other decorations. One aspect of the holiday that was hard for me to become accustomed to was the stress on endings. Not only do things need to be prepared on time, but even more—things need to be finished on time.
A few years ago, Yoshimi called me on the telephone. “Is Osawa-san alright? Her New Years decorations are still out so I have become very worried about her.”
The proper day you should put away your decorations depends on where in Japan you live, but in many places it’s the first full moon of the month, known as Small Oshogatsu. That is usually the official day for bringing your decorations to the shrine to be burned. It was always a challenge for me to get the endings right. No matter how much I enjoy the preparations and the holiday itself, I tended to forget that there was a specific day in our town that the decorations are meant to be taken down. But now, when I look back, I think these calendrical events give form to life in a very significant way-- they call us to look beyond the everyday busy-ness and need to control things, and to just let go to "how things are done" according to the calendar.
I hope you all enjoy your new year wherever you are!
++
Philip Larkin~~~
FIRST SIGHT
Lambs that learn to walk in snow
When their bleating clouds the air
Meet a vast unwelcome, know
Nothing but a sunless glare.
Newly stumbling to and fro
All they find, outside the fold,
Is a wretched width of cold.
As they wait beside the ewe,
Her fleeces wetly caked, there lies
Hidden round them, waiting too,
Earth's immeasurable surprise.
They could not grasp it if they knew,
What so soon will wake and grow
Utterly unlike the snow.
Oshogatsu
We hadn't been able to go to the farmer's market in about six weeks. I was so curious to see how farmer's market in California would reflect "winter." According to the old calendar, this is the season when winter can first be felt (立冬). In Japan, things would start to feel quiet and water would freeze (海凍、滝凍) . In fact, even the moon begins to freeze (月凍)!
In Tochigi, by now tomatoes, peaches and plums would be no longer delicious, even if you could find them. But autumn is my favorite season for eating, so we would pull out the nabe for hotpot and all the winter foods would be discussed and plans made for eating. Gingko nuts, oysters, mushrooms, persimmons...
Today I discovered that even in California, the market reflected the approaching winter. There was not a peach or plum in sight. Instead, it was persimmons and apples. And some strawberries. Pomegranates aplenty.
We don't eat enough fish anymore for me to notice the season.
The only time we buy it is at the farmer's market, where sustainable comes at a price ($67 for a pound of swordfish and a pound of salmon). There were small heirloom tomatoes though.... but mainly it was lettuce, potatoes, root veggies and radishes everywhere.
And no more dahlias. The tequila guy had heaps of chrysanthemums!
And, for the first time ever, safflowers! (They have stalks like bok choy).
I just finished a wonder celebration of flowers by Amy Merrick, called: On Flowers: Lessons from an Accidental Florist.
I loved reading about how she longed for Japan--and even felt homesick for this place--to which she had never been. But looking at her arrangements, they were such perfect expressions of Japanese tea flowers (茶花 chabana). My tea teacher was much more well known as an ikebana teacher and she specialized in chabana. I loved her arrangements every week adorning the tokonoma in the tea room.... always dewy and arranged so naturally to appear just as they would in a meadow--out in nature. Like me, she is also drawn to English gardens-- Sissinghurst, which is my favorite garden in the world.
One more thing that is wonderful about her book, she encourages us to "forage."
In japan, we always did that! Like "maple leaf hunting" (紅葉狩り）.. in Japan, there are things you are meant to appreciate from a distance and there are other things which you need to gather and bring home... I purchased a tiny pair of Japanese scissors to keep in my walking bag for foraging (My neighbors should love that!) Really, in LA, everything now is private property... it is so sad. I press flowers regularly and always have fresh flowers at home.. but I think it is time really to learn how to garden.
(Today is the first day of winter 立冬 according to the ancient calendar, when The First Camellia Blossoms)
-- Originally written: 09-09-09
I have to admit, it took me a long time to really understand chrysanthemums. Compared to all the colorful flowers of spring, chrysanthemums had always left me somehow under-whelmed. That is, until I really started looking at them.
Because I am stuck again in ancient calendar time; and because according to the ancient calendar, today happens to be the Chrysanthemum Festival, I will tell you everything I know about chrysanthemums.
The Chrysanthemum Festival-- also known as the Choyo no sekku 重陽の節句 (known as "the double nines" for you all on the Continent) occurs on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month (during the Time of White Dewdrops). Choyo no sekku marks the final festival of what is known as the Five Seasonal Festivals (go sekku 五節句) of the old lunar calendar, following the Seven Grasses Festival (or jinjitsu, falling on the Seventh Day of the First Month), the Peach Blossom Festival (or Girl’s Day, falling on the Third Day of the Third Month), the Iris Festival (or Boy’s Day, falling on the Fifth Day of the Fifth Month) and the Star Festival (or Tanabata, falling on the Seventh Day of the Seventh Month.) All five of these festivals have their origins in China and were festivals marking the major changes in the seasons.
According to i ching philosophy, the doubling up of the odd, or yang numbers 1,3,5,7,9 was seen as auspicious, so that in Japan at least we have major holidays occurring on January 1st, March 3rd, May 5th, July 7th and September 9th. These "double yang" holidays were days of both celebration as well as purification and abstinence. Like so much else from China, the five festivals were adopted from the Continent by the Heian Period aristocracy; only over time being transformed according to Japanese tastes.
In ancient China, the ninth day of the Ninth Month was considered to be the seasonal marker of the “first chill of Autumn.” It was thought to be particularly potent because of the belief that the number nine, being the highest odd number (yang) from one to ten was especially lucky, and therefore this day with its “two nines” (that is, Ninth Day of the Ninth Month) was considered to be the ultimate in propitiousness.
Like the phases of the moon, the ancient Taoist philosophers taught that everything in the universe was in a constant state of vacillation. Everything therefore was either in a stage of waxing or waning so that at that very moment when something appeared to reach perfect fullness, its waning had in reality already begun. In this way, things which appear to our human eyes to be perfectly complete or full are in fact already in decline. Due to this belief, the number nine was preferred to the number ten (since 10 was already-- according to this way of looking at things-- already in a state of decline).
In much the same way that the number 10,000 indicated countless or endless numbers, the number nine signified “the largest” or “the greatest.” It was believed that there were nine heavens above reflecting the nine provinces comprising the ancient empire below, and this was further reflected in the Nine Gates and Nine Imperial Decorations of the Chinese Imperial Palace. The number nine therefore signified, "All under Heaven." It was also thought to express virtue or virtuous actions, so that when people bowed repeatedly or made offerings at formal occasions or at temples, this was known as the “nine bows” (九頓首) or the “nine offerings” (九献). This, too, eventually filtered into Japanese thought, and the “nine bows” of ancient China came to be known in the Japanese phrase sanbai-kyuhai (三拝九拝) which means to “bow repeatedly.” The “nine offerings” became the rational behind the Japanese ceremonial partaking of the “three times three exchange of nuptial cups of rice wine” (三三九度) which is still one of the main rituals performed in a traditional Shinto-style wedding ceremony in Japan today.
Nine, by the way, has always been my favorite number.
In ancient China on this day people climbed hills, had picnics outdoors and long life was prayed for by drinking chrysanthemum wine. Wang Wei, in the mid-eighth century, wrote of feeling very homesick spending the festival alone in a faraway place:
Remembering My Brothers in Shandong on the Double-Ninth Festival:
Alone, a stranger in a distant province-
At festivals I’m homesick through and through.
In my mind’s eye, my brothers climb the mountain,
Each carrying dogwood- but there’s one too few
trans. Vikram Seth
“Dogwood” is how Seth translates the Japanese word for shuyu-- a Chinese type of citrus plant (related to the Japanese pepper tree, sanshou 山椒, cf. Kojien 562) which was placed in bags, called shuyu-no-fukoro. These bags were hung in homes and carried around on that day in the belief that the magical plant had the power to purify, scaring away evil demons-- much like the effect of garlic on vampires. Because of this practice, the day was also known as the “Dogwood Festival” (shuyu-setsuKojien 1241.) This custom spread to the Japanese aristocrats of the Heian Period, and these shuyu-no-fukuro 茱萸袋 were put up on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month replacing the “medicinal bags” (kusuri-dama 薬玉) hung in rooms (especially rooms where people slept) beginning on the Iris Festival on May Fifth.
Chrysanthemum wine has been prepared and consumed in China, at least since the Han Dynasty (206BCE- 220CE) as both a cure against sickness and aging, as well as for reasons of purification similar to that of dogwood described above. Beautifully cultivated chrysanthemums were displayed and admired on this day, and the flower, in addition to being known as one of the “four gentlemen blossoms” (四君子）in the company of orchids, bamboo and plum blossoms, has long been associated with longevity due to the fact that the flowers bloom so magnificently just when the rest of nature seems to be giving up and dying (Kojien 1685.) In Chinese, the flowers’s name, ju(菊) is phonetically associated with the word for “nine” (jiu) and is identical with the word for “long time” (jiu) so that this symbol for long life was firmly associated with the Ninth Month from very ancient times. This belief was early on transported to Japan:
消えぬべき
露のいのちと
思わずは
久しき菊に
かかりやはせぬ
Rather than dwell
on the dewdrops
which only fade away
Why not instead align yourself
with the long-lived chrysanthemums?
-Izumi Shikibu Nikki
The flower was often used as a metaphor in poems written- to the Emperor, for example- wishing long life or a long reign. In both China and Japan, the Ninth Month was known as the “Chrysanthemum Month”. In Japan, however, this is only a secondary name, as the month is mainly known as the “Long Month,” (Nagatsuki 長月), or “Nights Growing Longer Month” (Yonagatsuki 夜長月).
The chrysanthemum, which eventually became not only associated with the Emperor of Japan, but, along with cherry blossoms, became symbolic of the Japanese people themselves, is believed to have been native, not to Japan, but to China. There is no mention of the flower in all of the Manyoshu and it is assumed to have arrived in Japan only in the late Nara to early Heian Period, valued at that time for its medicinal qualities. By the mid-Heian Period, it was cultivated and appreciated at Court and among the aristocracy. “Chrysanthemum Flower Contests” (菊の花合わせ）with poetry matches and banquets (菊花の宴）were held, and in relation to the world described in The Tale of Genji, Ivan Morris describes the festival in this way:
The emperor and his Court inspect the chrysanthemums in the palace gardens. Afterward there is a banquet. Poems are composed and the guests drink wine in which chrysanthemums have been steeped. After a performance of dances, Palace Girls present small white trout to His Majesty, and later the guests are
served dishes of white trout.
Lady Sei Shonagon, in her Pillow Book, describes the Heian custom of covering the court chrysanthemums on the eve of the festival with cloth and allowing the perfume of the flowers to mix in with the autumn dew, seeping in overnight so that the next morning they could be rubbed over one’s face and body to prevent aging and premature death. And, Murasaki Shikibu records in her diary that:
On the ninth of the ninth month Lady Hyobu brought me floss-silk damp with chrysanthemum dew.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Her Excellency sent it especially for you. She said you were to
use it carefully to wipe old age away!’
The Festival is also briefly described in The Tale of Genji:
Early in the Ninth Month came the chrysanthemum festival. As always, the festive bouquets were wrapped in cotton to catch the magic dew
(Collecting dewdrops-- Why does that continue to fascinate me?)
The Heian Period was a time of huge admiration for anything Chinese- from literature to clothes to flowers. The aristocrats of the day associated Chinese things with the height of elegance, and the chrysanthemum festival was part of this cultural milieu.
It wasn’t until the Edo Period that chrysanthemum-viewing and the Chrysanthemum Festival became truly popular with all classes of people, and by this time many new types of chrysanthemums had been introduced so that chrysanthemum-viewing became part of the yearly calendar of events of the common people. While aristocratic families continued the custom of drinking chrysanthemum wine on this day, common people prepared and enjoyed chestnut rice, giving chestnuts, which had recently been harvested, to friends and relatives. Because the Ninth Month of the old lunar calendar coincided with the time of year when the harvest work had been recently completed, over time Autumn Festivals in celebration of the harvest came to be held around the time of Chrysanthemum Festival so that the original meaning of the Chrysanthemum Festival became blurred over time.
Then by the Meiji Period, with the introduction of the new Western solar calendar, the significance of these “double nines” had all but completely been lost, except that it was still reflected in customs surrounding certain harvest festivals called “o-kunichi” (the ninth day お九日) or “o-kunchi.” These harvest festivals were traditionally held across Japan in the Ninth Month (lunar or solar) on the Ninth Day (either the 9th, 19th or 29th.) Also because of the month-long gap created by the introduction of the Solar calendar, Chrysanthemums are in fact no longer in bloom during the Ninth Month thereby further obscuring the original meaning of the festival.
早く咲け９日も近し菊の花
芭蕉
Hurry up and blossoms
-Chrysanthemum flowers-
The Ninth Day is drawing near
-Basho
In spite of the fact that chrysanthemums are no longer in bloom during the Ninth Month, The Chrysanthemum Festival is still celebrated on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month by the Imperial family, as well as being indirectly celebrated in the Tea Ceremony where the festival is evoked at the “chrysanthemum tea gatherings” (菊の茶) held in September. At these tea gatherings, much like when the cherry blossoms bloom in spring, tea utencils which have names associated with the flower are used and appreciated; tea kettles or incense containers shaped in forms reminiscent of chrysanthemums are used, and of course the flower is used to decorate the alcove in the tea room. Outside the court or the world of tea, this is the least commonly celebrated festival of The Five Seasonal Festivals-- which is a shame since it is a day both rich in beauty and philosophy.
In the end, I too have fallen under the charms of the lofty chrysanthemum. Perhaps that's because I too would like to partake in the flower's secrets of everlasting beauty. While my favorite flower of all, the peony dies a dramatic-- and yes, unsettling-- death (all her flowers falling at once) chrysanthemums just seem to dry out in a beautifully preserved state. They are, in fact, beautiful till the end. And, its true, when the last chrysanthemum has died, no more flowers will bloom till the start of spring the following year. They are the last to bloom. Stubbornly holding off winter with their sheer act of will. You really cannot help but admire them, can you?
Update (9月10日〕
Andrew Leonard of Salon magazine links to this post in his article The Bicycle Theory & the Tao. Andrew, thank you very much for your kind words!
Update (９月１７日）
Athena sends me this link to the New York Botanical Gardens "Kiku" event-- for those in New York.
[First appeared at 3 Quarks Daily on Sept 16th with photos by my Sis]
1.
Back from three weeks on the road, I immediately consult my Japanese almanac. To my delight, I see we are now in the Time of White Dew (白露):
Falling just prior to the Autumnal Equinox, the sun is said to have passed the 165th solar degree on its journey south. Although the afternoons are still dominated by the lingering heat of August and September, Autumn-like weather can increasingly be felt, deepening with each passing rain shower, especially noticeable in the mornings and evenings as the equinox approaches.
It's like clockwork. Every year, by mid-September, the dew point is reached and suddenly there are glistening dewdrops --like diamonds-- scattered in the morning grass.
This was true in Tokyo and it's true in Los Angeles.
In Japan, these pearly gems are not only treasured for their gem-like beauty, but they are also appreciated for their fleetingness; which, like scattering cherry blossoms, are likened to the transience of our human existence. For life, like the disappearing dewdrops in the morning sunlight, is too often cut short. In this way, dewdrops have been considered, since ancient times, along with “scattering flowers and fallen leaves” (飛花落葉) as a poetic metaphor for impermanence, or mujo (無常).
Have you heard of the dewdrop world?
In Japan, human transience became so associated with the autumn dew that our frailty was referred to as our “dewdrop world” (tsuyu no yo 露の世); or as our “dewdrop lives” (tsuyu no inochi 露の命), our “dewdrop bodies” or “dewdrop selves” (tsuyu no mi 露の身). One of the most famous haiku written on this theme is one by Issa who, devastated after the loss of his beloved one-year old daughter, lamented:
露の世は露の世ながらさりながら
一茶
this world of dew-
is yes, a world of dew
and yet...
-Issa
The above translation is by Patricia Donegan. I really like the translation since she emphasizes the sorrow of things. "Yes," says Issa, life is fleeting and precarious. filled with sadness. Like dewdrops fated to fade away in the morning sunshine, our lives are all too fragile. Yet even in knowing this, still the poet whispers "and yet..." This is something you can't help but feel in early autumn. After all, the world itself seems to be in a process of death and decay:
秋風に
なびく浅茅の
末ごとに
おく白露の
あはれ世の中
White dew
poised at the tips of
grass, fluttering
in the autumn wind-
What a fragile, fleeting world
- Semimaro, Shin-kokinshu
The above poem is from the second imperial anthology of court poetry, compiled in the 15th century. What a fragile and fleeting world, says the poet. But so beautiful too. For indeed, precisely what is fragile and fleeting is what is considered beautiful, as Japanese monk Yoshida Kenkō remarked in his Essays in Idleness :
If man were to never fade away like the dews of Adashino.... but lingered on forever in the world, how things would lose their power to move us!
Buddhism, of course, also teaches that nothing in life can escape the law of anitya or “necessary change” and that all life inevitably must perish.
The Heart Sutra teaches that, All that appears before us is as a dream, an illusion, a bubble, a shadow. All is like the dew or lightening. It should thus be contemplated that nothing has reality. That everything is in flux and that all must eventually perish is a sad but inevitable fact that somehow seems all the more apparent in this season of sparse autumn grass, disappearing dewdrops and sudden, passing thunderstorms.
2.
We know from classical Chinese poetry that the appreciation of mid-autumn dewdrops and late-autumn to early-winter frost dates back at least to the Warring States Period (BC 453-221) This ancient Chinese love of dewdrops also becomes apparent when we take a look at the calendar itself. Of the six seasonal names of autumn, three are named after the dew or frost:
August 8th 立秋 The Time of First Day of Autumn
August 23rd 処暑 The Time of Manageable Heat
September 8th 白露 The Time of White Dew
September 23rd 秋分 The Time of the Autumnal Equinox
October 9th 寒露 The Time of Cold Dew
October 24th 霜降 The Time of Frost Falling
Because dewdrops become especially noticeable around the time, when the autumn leaves change colors, I suppose it was inevitable that the ancients connected the changing leaves to the dew, and wondered if it wasn't it perhaps the abundant dew which, seeping into the leaves of the trees at night, somehow stained them the many different autumn colors? Not only was it the dew that was thought of to be the reason behind the spectacular brocade of autumn foliage, but frost and the autumn rain showers were also posited as possible causes for why the leaves changed colors so dramatically around this time of year.
As an aside, my personal preferred explanation for why the leaves changed colors doesn't involve the dew at all, but rather the tears of passing geese:
秋の夜の
露をば露と
置きながら
雁の涙や
野辺を染むらむ
Might it not be that
the dewdrops forming on Autumn nights
are only just that- dewdrops
And that it’s the tears of passing geese
which stain the fields red
– Mibu no Tademine
Kokinshu 258
3.
In the world of tea ceremony, or chanoyu, where purity is one of the four main principles, the garden path leading to any tearoom is called the “dewy ground” (or roji, 露地) and the origin of this name can be traced back to one of the most well-known stories in the Lotus Sutra about how the children of a wealthy man were made to flee a burning house. This parable extols us to escape the burning house of the “three worlds” (of worldly title, position and attachments) and to dwell in the purity of “white dewy ground.”
Poet Issa said it so beautifully:
朝露に浄土参りのけいこ哉
From the white dewdrops,
Learn the way
To the Pure Land
-Issa
The translation is by RH Blyth, who explains:
Just as the wind is used as a symbol of the unknown comings and goings of the spirit of life, so water is the type of our own life, its swift, willing obedience, its bright, active desirelessness. Above all, the dew drop that disappears so soon, leaving not a trace of itself behind, is our own soul, that is devoid of all qualities, free of any kind of permanence, is the white radiance of eternity.
Sen Soshitsu, the Grand Tea Master of the Urasenke tradition, which I studied, explains the function of the roji as creating a special space where one can leave the cares of the world behind. He says: “The first thing the host and guests should do in the roji is too purify themselves, using the water in the basin, they should rinse off the dust of the world.”
The dewy garden, then, is really a path leading one out of the everyday world of dust into a world where purity is valued above all else:
露地はただ
浮き世のそとの
道なるに
心のちりを
にちらすらん
The roji is simply
a path leading from
this floating world.
Why bestrew it
with dust from the mind?
Sen Rikyu, Namporoku
My tea teacher once explained the words the famous Edo Period tea devotee, Matsudaira Fumai, who said that “Chanoyu is like a morning dewdrop poised on a seedling of rice”
This is another way of expressing one of the most famous maxims of chanoyu: “This meeting- once in a lifetime” (ichigo ichie, 一期一会), which extols tea practitioners to understand that every tea gathering is a once in a lifetime event, and therefore precious beyond value- very much like the beauty of the morning dew.
All this talk of dewdrops reminds me of a Vietnamese emperor.
Bicycling around Hue twenty years ago on our broken-down Peugeots, we traipsed into the Forbidden Purple City. It was so hot and hungry-- and tired. Sitting out by the small lotus pond behind what was the throne room in the palace, I overheard a guide telling a group of tourists that, "It was here that every morning servants gathered the dew that had collected overnight on the lotus leaves." Why, we wondered, would they collect the dewdrops? Before we could ask, the guide explained, the dewdrops were gathered to make the emperor's morning cup of tea.
My heart skipped a beat-- tea made from the water of dewdrops collected on the leaves of the lotus flowers: now that is something I would very much like to try someday....
++
Photographs by Tracey Parmley Nuki--dewdrops in the garden of the Getty
Translations mine if not otherwise stated.
Faye Wong's Heart Sutra below
To read: Haiku Mind: 108 Poems to Cultivate Awareness and Open Your Heart
by Patricia Donegan
Everyday a Good Day: Fifteen Lessons I learned about Happiness from Japanese Tea Culture
East Wind Melts the Ice: A Memoir through the Seasons
by Liza Dalby
Note: Liza Dalby explains why the dew is called white: "Shiratsuyu" has been a poetic term in Japan ever since the first poetry was written down. Shining like little jewels, "white dew" on the autumn grass is the image par excellence of transient beauty. The "white" does not mean the dew is turning into frost. Early in the morning or after the rain, if you look at leaves with lightly fuzzed surfaces, or with upturned edges, the water vapor balls up into large dewdrops. Reflecting the sunlight, they appear white rather than simply transparent."
Kazy used to love the mid-Autumn Festival 中秋節!
In Hong Kong, he loved it because they had the best mooncakes. But in Japan, because he loved the way the moon would play hide and seek behind the clouds...
Oh, those Japanese autumn skies !
Every year, I would put pampas grass in a vase and buy some o-dango and we would wait for the moon to come out and play. One year, when he was around four, he grabbed the grasses and started waving them toward the sky, "come out a play, come out and play!" he screamed at the moon.
And the moon did just that!
Fast forward ten years.
Would you believe we can have mooncakes DELIVERED from a famous Hong Kong bakery that has a branch of their shop in Pasadena!
As always, I arranged mooncakes and bought sake (This year was plum flavored whiskey!)... But my astronomer, who long ago figured out that the top of my head makes for the perfect tripod, decided to balance his heavy astronomical binoculars on top of my head to try and get an iPhone shot of the moon...
++
Moon-viewing with my astronomer
Clear LA skies-
Binoculars propped atop my head
--The moon laughs out loud
名月を取ってくれろと泣く子かな 一茶
Grab it, cried the child, pointing up at the full moon- Issa
On Friday night, a substantial portion of the world's population will in waves collectively turn their eyes up toward the moon.
Yes, the Mid-Autumn Festival 中秋節 is upon us again.
The appreciation of the mid-autumn moon is a custom dating back at least to Han dynasty China-- probably even earlier. Indeed, for at least 2000 years now, it has been the full moon of the Eighth Month (approximately present-day September) which has been considered the most beautiful moon of the year.
In Japan, the custom of moon-viewing was adopted from China during the early Heian times and fantastic moon-viewing parties were a celebrated part of court life from these early times, where aristocrats would drink plenty of rice wine-- and floating lazily on their dragon boats, would drift around man-made ponds gazing at the moon (some perhaps composing poetry and snacking on mooncakes).
K-sensei-- who also loves this time of year-- sent me an essay he had written the other day for a local newspaper in which he writes,
秋の長夜、お月さまを仰ぐたび、日本人に生まれてよかったと思う。稲田をわたる秋風を淋しくて、どうにも身にしみるが、コオロギが競って鳴くころのお月さまなんとも味わいがある。
"On long autumn nights, gazing up in awe at the moon, I feel glad to have been born Japanese. On those nights, as the sad, lonely autumn wind blows across the rice fields and the sound of the singing crickets seems to penetrate me, I feel something deeply meaningful as I look at the moon."
He tells me that many Japanese people feel something along the lines of aesthetic and spiritual awe when they gaze at the moon. K-sensei, in the grand tradition of nihonjin-ron, then goes on to compare the Japanese experience of moon-viewing with that of the West.
In the West, he explains, the full moon has long been associated with insomnia and insanity. The night of the full moon was a night to ward oneself against evil or lunacy. We see this aspect of the Western tradition perhaps in our word "lunatic," which, of course, comes from "luna." Indeed, the full moon has long been associated we are told with everything from vampires to excessive dog bites. (Cat Power and the Moon)
In contrast,
東洋人の心の中に月は、あくまでやさしさと純粋さを映し出すもの、人間の良心を引き出してくれるあいじょうのようなものを持つ。西瓜畑の泥棒がお月さんがじっと見ているので、恥入って西瓜を盗むことなく退散した話がある。
"The moon that lives in the hearts of those in the East, if anything, possesses a kindness and purity which has the ability of bringing out the best in humans. There is a story of a thief in a watermelon field. The moon shining down on the thief made him feel so ashamed about what he was about to commit that he left the field unable to touch even one watermelon."
The moon, then, is like a brilliant mirror reflecting back the purist and most beautiful parts of our hearts. It is another instance of the Japanese belief in the power of beauty.
Finally, K-sensei writes,
また中国では、お月さまを玉兎とも形容した。そこから、兎が住み餅をうくというコミカルな発想に結びつく。そうしたイマジュネーションは、東洋人のつきに対する思いの表れであり私たちの心をどんな平和にしてくれることか。
"The Chinese believe that a jade hare (玉兎) is pounding mochi rice cakes (In China, medicine to help the sick) up on the moon. This comical story of a rabbit pounding rice cakes has long been associated with moon viewing, and this type of imaginative story-telling about the moon is an expression of the way in which the moon lives in the hearts of the people of the East. Images such as this, unfold within our hearts a feeling of peacefulness and happiness."
**
One of my favorite anecdotes about the moon is one everyone has probably heard before --- when the great Natsume Soseki, who was still in English teacher at the time, was advising one of his pupils on the translation of "I love you" firmly declared that, "I love you" should be translated into Japanese not as 我君ヲ愛ス but as, "Isn't the moon beautiful?" 「月が綺麗ですね」といいなさい。Yes...
illustration from here
Bucks bucking heads--clack!
A hundred cars stop to watch
On the road to Zion
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The crash of their horns colliding reminded me a lot of the sound of bamboo swords meeting their opponent in kendo.
On the road out of Zion toward Bryce, there are countless bighorn sheep--some with collars, like these juveniles. Like movie stars, they can really stop traffic and bring out the paparazzi~!
where did they come from?
mushrooms scattered in the grass
White dew descends
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It's almost like clockwork, especially in misty Westlake Village, but even here in sunny Pasadena, at this time of year, the dew point is reached and suddenly there are glistening dewdrops --like diamonds in the wet grass. Especially in the early mornings. But even as late as 10, you seem them....
And with the dewdrops, comes an explosion of mushrooms. You can almost here them popping up in the grass all over
Pop pop pop pop!!
It is so hard to capture the dewdrops on "film."
Liza Dalby explains it like this:
"Shiratsuyu" has been a poetic term in Japan ever since the first poetry was written down. Shining like little jewels, "white dew" on the autumn grass is the image par excellence of transient beauty. The "white" does not mean the dew is turning into frost. Early in the morning or after the rain, if you look at leaves with lightly fuzzed surfaces, or with upturned edges, the water vapor balls up into large dewdrops. Reflecting the sunlight, they appear white rather than simply transparent." This happens beautiful in Westlake where everything is very misty.
