Ramblings 2023/01/07

A brand new year has begun. On Thursday afternoon, at the hotel reception, I was stopped and told, "There is a document here for you."

I received something that looked like a slightly large Yu-Pack parcel, and when I checked the sender, it was from my wife.

At the end of last year, when I was deeply moved by Brodsky's Watermark, I asked my wife, "Brodsky? Do you know him? He writes poems and essays, and I felt that water and light were time and love themselves." My wife doesn't read many novels, but she has memorized a great deal of poetry.
By the way, her dream seems to be to become a little bird that sings poetry.

When I opened the cardboard envelope, it contained a small, thin book and a letter.
It was the Japanese version of Brodsky's Nobel Prize lecture and a letter in which she had copied out Brodsky's short poem, Angel.

“Less Than One” captured my heart within the first few pages.

I recall Kunio Tsuji discussing Malte's death ≒ 'inherent death' in his work “The Silence of the Roses.”
Looking at the modernizing Paris of that time, he tried to scoop up an inherent death from a death that belonged to no one.

The uniform, inorganic, and flat atmosphere of the modern age swallows individuals whole and incorporates them into parts of social functions. The more civilization develops, and the more 'human' it becomes, the more it forces relationships of domination and servitude in cruel ways, turning the domains of others into their own domains—territories where their common concepts apply. Are not recent conflicts, wars, and genocides all attempts to create relationships of domination and servitude because they cannot accept differences in ethnicity, religion, or ideology? (The Rwandan genocide might be an exception.)

Is art not a hymn to 'inherent life and death'?

If 'inherent death' is an attempt to be an 'individual,' then as Brodsky states, literature and art might be able to create some opportunity to pause and re-examine the cruel, ego-exposed 'humanity.'

That is why I believe that fairness in opportunities to encounter art and fairness in opportunities to develop literacy are necessary for children in all situations.

I think that valuing oneself with one's own mind, thinking well with one's heart and head, and having the generosity and imagination to accept the differences between oneself and others will expand love.

The feeling of forgiveness is extremely difficult, but it is also very simple, and it is possible if one can have a healthy body, mind, and courage.
Instead of asserting ourselves to each other, wouldn't it be better if we could gently tap each other on the shoulder and say, 'Hey, hey,' and have just a little bit of room to listen to that inquiry?
Whether a father and mother form an ideal family or not, if a child does not receive a lot of love—even if it is just from one person—it becomes difficult for their heart to grow.

If there is soft, sun-drenched soil, trees and flowers will grow and eventually produce flower buds, no matter what shape they take.

Art might be the fertilizer for a small seed to sprout vigorously and grow strongly, and peace might be the soil, water, air, and sunlight.
You might say, 'Why are you saying such childish, ridiculous, idealistic things?' but there are children who cannot enjoy such obvious things, who are still freezing in the winter cold and are desperate for what they will eat tomorrow.

Peace begins in such very gentle and simple places, so why do we think about it in such a difficult way and try to dominate each other?

Perhaps we are forgetting kindness and neglecting love in order to maintain a 'human' civilized life.

Everyone, even the worst villain, wants to be properly held as an 'individual' under the warm sunlight, in the peaceful sleep of a pitch-black night, while being told, 'My precious so-and-so.'

Otherwise, the heart will break or freeze solid.

We must understand the desire for such things not with logic, but with the heart.

People who have no room to spare have no choice but to live in the present with all their might, but those who have even a little room should reach out a hand.

People who are oppressed or in the midst of conflict often cannot raise their voices.

Those on the outside must listen to those voices. Voices refer to all those who are oppressed by those in power.

Why do we hurt others?
Because we don't like their religion or political ideology, because they threaten peace so we strike before being struck, because existence itself is a threat unless we exclude those who don't share our thoughts, language, or ethnicity...
The grudges from times so long ago that it makes one dizzy, and so on.
There are many reasons, I suppose.

When troubles develop into civil strife or war in that way, even if you think, 'The ideas, methods, and policies of this country or this group are wrong,' you have to point a gun at the other side.
Whether you are pointing it or not, there is someone watching from behind, and if you don't point it, you are considered a traitor—the difficulty of raising a voice from within—the horror of militarism and totalitarianism can be well understood by looking back at Japan's militaristic era.
Such an era existed in Japan as well.

Is it not extremely rare for people of my generation to be able to actually hear stories about the former Japanese military?
I was fortunate enough to be able to hear them when I was a child, thanks to my great-grandfather living a long life.

Before logical thinking skills, it goes without saying that we must nurture the ability to read text and think and feel for ourselves, but we must also properly write down the facts that occurred, reflect on them, and connect them to the future.
I wrote 'worst villain,' but during the war, my great-grandfather was likely a worst villain to the people in the enemy territory.
Since he also said, 'The Japanese military did some very terrible things,' I think the emotional scars must have been immeasurably deep. And after the defeat, the values of society changed completely.

It would be strange if one's heart didn't break.

In so-called 'schools,' there is a tendency to try to make inconvenient things vague and teach only idealistic things, or things that are convenient for someone, or only 'logic'.

We must train ourselves from childhood to not overlook our own 'sense of discomfort,' to have the courage to raise our voices, and to think for ourselves.
Talk about history at home.
Be gentle with people, tap them on the shoulder, and if they have something to say, tap them on the shoulder and listen, instead of suddenly lashing out.

If everyone grew up like that, the structure of domination and servitude itself might have been different, and the concept of domination might have been something else.

Why is it? Is there no time to ask each other, 'What's wrong, why are you tapping me like that?'
Why is it that people won't pay attention unless everything is extremely entertaining, or why do they ignore everything except what is immediately useful?

As I was thinking about these rambling things, my chest felt tight and painful.