A Philosophical Journey to Kanazawa: Contemplating What Things Are
The glaze was the color of aged zelkova wood; the cup had a foot, making it easy to hold and comfortable in the hand.
The shopkeeper's words, "Since it is pottery, the way the color appears is different for each one," added to the mug's charm.
Back home, when I held it as a lingering memory of my trip, my thoughts drifted back to my time in Kanazawa.
Chapter 1: A Journey Begins After It Ends
At the end of a trip, I write a novel based on it.
Following my custom, I brew drip coffee in the mug I bought and sit at my desk. As I tilt the cup, the aroma of coffee rises, and the outlines of reality soften.
I am recreating the general store in Kanazawa where I first encountered the mug.
Perhaps by traveling, people detach themselves slightly from the shell of the "self," encounter unfamiliar landscapes, and confront an unfamiliar version of themselves.
Now that I have returned home, on the verge of returning to the ordinary time known as daily life, this mug has taken on meaning as something that keeps the lingering memories of the trip close at hand.
Chapter 2: Mug Philosophy
For example—what is a "vessel," or the thing-in-itself?
It was in Kant's words.
What is the thing-in-itself? I can only clearly remember getting a fever from trying to understand the meaning.
What is the thing-in-itself?
The object we pour drinks into and put our lips to transcends being a mere tool; it represents consciousness, existence, and the boundary between oneself and others.
By contemplating the object and myself, I connect with the feeling that "I am me."
As beings cast into a "meaningless world," humans are creatures who choose meaning for themselves; since this was a life I chose for myself, this mug, as an object, is of course something "I chose."
The moment I reach for the mug, I see a quiet wall between "the self that was a stranger on the trip" and "the me who has returned home."
The scenery I encountered on my trip, the textures I touched, the scents.
Everything was a transient "other," but in the form of a vessel, it has quietly settled in my hands.
There is something more there than just "a tool for me to drink from."
—If I were to let go of this vessel, would the memories of the trip also dissipate?
—And, what is "memory" in the first place?
In the act of recreating the past within my consciousness, how much of it is me, and where does the exhilarated self from the trip begin?
From here, I will write a story about the relationship between consciousness and memory, subject and world, using the object of the vessel as a medium.
Please read it if you have the time.
I will also intrude upon your memories as a souvenir of "Kanazawa."
Chapter 3: Whispers from Another Dimension
That night, just before falling asleep, I moved the mug to my bedside.
I had unconsciously found a meaning like a talisman in the act of gently placing a souvenir from my Kanazawa trip by my pillow.
However, beyond sleep, my consciousness slipped into another world.
—I was standing in an unfamiliar space.
It did not resemble a living room or a cafe.
Soft, pale light drifted about, and the floor, walls, and ceiling all had ambiguous outlines.
In the center, the mug I had bought was placed quietly, as if it were a statue.
From the cracks in the cup's glaze, silver lines emitted light, and vortex patterns were slowly writhing.
And, next to the cup, another mug was lined up, identical in shape but different in color.
It was the one I had hesitated over but did not buy.
It was clad in a deep indigo glaze, and the silver lines of the vortex patterns cast shadows that were nearly pitch black.
"This side" and "the other side."
—Is what you picked up on your journey just a vessel, or is it—
The atmosphere of the otherworld spoke to my consciousness.
"The vessel is a 'chosen' object. By picking up this vessel, your world line has branched into two."
"A journey is a glimpse into the possibilities lurking outside of time. But possibilities are merely masses of consciousness that have not yet manifested."
The silver wire vortex rotated slowly, and I realized.
I, as a subject, am attempting to access worlds of different possibilities through an object.
A rift that the "unconscious" opens outside of the self
Images of "multiverses" and "branching time."
This is not merely a dream.
My waking consciousness is touching the edges of the world, using the memories of my journey as a medium.
Chapter 4: The Play of Choice and Free Will
What I obtained on my journey was choice.
Choice means that the moment I looked at that mug and thought, 'I will buy this,' time branched for an instant.
"Free will" is this irreversible point,
and the realization that choice paves the way toward the future.
If I hadn't bought the mug that day—another version of me, not me, would have existed on the other world line.
The vessel might have had a different color, and the vortex pattern might have been carved differently.
On my journey, I let my self crumble a little and opened up to others, other scenery, and other times.
The mug is a "medium" for reconnecting that crumbled self.
The question that surfaced from the unconscious is now swirling inside the vessel.
I pick up the vessel and look at it once more.
—Through this vessel, I encountered the otherness of my journey and my own will.
—Perhaps it was not that I chose this vessel, but that the vessel chose me.
I felt as if the silver wire on the cup trembled slightly with light.
I thought it was a whisper from the other me.
—"I am here, too."
Chapter 5: Return and Awakening
The next morning, the light from the window is a little brighter than yesterday.
The mug was just there, still holding the memories of the journey.
I poured coffee into the cup and took a slow sip.
The bitterness and aroma quietly, yet surely, prompted an awakening.
The journey was over.
Inside me, the branches and possibilities I touched in that otherworld remained, faint and lingering.
What the vessel taught me was that the world is not just the reality we see, but a layering of unseen possibilities.
When people return to their daily lives, they forget almost immediately.
The scenery of the trip and the cracks in the vessel fade away like a dream.
However, the mass residing within the vessel brings those memories back to life.
I decided to keep holding onto that cup, not just as a souvenir of my travels, but as a record of the subtle shifts in my own consciousness.
And I wondered—
—if I were to gaze at this vessel again tomorrow, would I arrive at a different timeline?
Would I peer once more into the fissures of the unconscious through this vessel?
On a quiet night, if you have a "vessel" in your own hands, I hope you will take a moment to gaze at it.
For within it, the traces of the choices your consciousness has made,
and the possibilities of a world yet unseen, may be hiding.
*Memories of a trip to Kanazawa, October 2025