It’s early, just our tenth day and still much to see. But some impressions have been made.
Japan, like the rest of the world has been overtaken by modernity. Some of it good. Fast trains, efficient cars, the conveniences of kitchen and bath. But even a foreigner can experience nostalgia for what’s no longer.
Take the art of years ago,
when there was no clutter,
or bravado.
I was reading about Haiku, and came across a passage from D.T. Suzuki, the late Zen monk and scholar:
When a feeling reaches its highest pitch, we remain silent, even 17 syllables may be too many. Japanese artists, influenced by the way of Zen, tend to use the fewest words or strokes of brush to express their feelings. When they are too fully expressed no room for suggestion is possible, and suggestibility is the secret of the Japanese arts.
It seems that’s been lost . . . but yet cultural remnants remain.
The little shrines,
with their simple details
and strange delights
overhead.
The temples,
open to everyone,
and ever reverent.
Public hand baths,
and quiet parks,
manifest a lingering civility,
while love of tidiness,
garden,
and flower,
express a native sensitivity.
Candy is still sold
in tiny shops,
as prayerful people
walk the streets.
Even car and home,
are minimal and complementary.
Here at Beppu-shu,
efficiency
and simplicity
are bedfellows.
And the sunsets,
are still beautiful.
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