The Green Star That Keeps Rolling - The Deep Green Arc and the Memory of Friction -

Stagnation in the cardboard boxes

In a small bottle placed by the window, the deep green sphere sits as still as if it had stopped breathing.

March 29th.

The words "Marimo Day" written on the edge of the calendar looked strangely out of place in the dust-filled room.

Chased by the packing for my move, my fingertips are completely roughened by the dry texture of the cardboard.

The sharp sound of peeling off packing tape tears through the silence.

I stopped my work and held that small roommate up to the setting sun.

Swaying gently in the water, it is a fragment of life designated as a Special Natural Monument, from the dark, cold lakebed of Lake Akan in Hokkaido.

The Rolling Stones of Akan

Marimo are not round from the start.

On the lakebed, in a place where light does not reach, they are tossed about by the incoming and outgoing waves, continuing to roll while being worn down by stones and sand.

Collision and friction.

It is said that this constant agitation is what forms that beautiful sphere.

If the waves stop, or if it refuses to roll, its shape becomes distorted, and decay begins from the side that the light does not touch.

The only condition for maintaining that vivid green and that perfect form is "not to stop."

The green fibers I see through the glass, while feigning the softness of velvet, were actually intertwined with surprising strength.

The true nature of wear

"You've become rounded, haven't you?"

The words my boss threw at me the other day, accompanied by the smell of alcohol, ache like a thorn deep in my ears.

When I was a newcomer, I was a bundle of raw nerves, intimidating everyone at every opportunity and brandishing a knife called my own sense of justice.

Now, I have learned how to breathe without making waves, and I have become skilled at plastering a gray smile onto my face.

I had convinced myself that this was merely 'wear and tear'.

That I was just a hollow shell, sanded down by the giant file of society, having lost my edges and discarded my former sharpness.

However, as I look at the cold bottle in my palm, the back of my throat grows hot.

The reason a marimo is round is by no means because it has yielded to its surroundings.

It is the most combative and resilient 'form of life,' designed to bathe in light from every direction and leave no blind spots.

A New Peak

When I gently shook the bottle, the marimo turned softly in the water.

Where is up, and where is down? Such boundaries vanish along with the bubbles.

Wherever it rolls, that place becomes the peak of the world at that very moment.

'Not bad.'

I placed the bottle at the very top of the cardboard box for my new home, like a treasure.

From April, another, even more intense current will likely try to swallow me up.

But there is no need to be afraid.

Losing my edges is not proof that I have become weak.

I will absorb every impact, deflect it with grace, and rise again and again.

Because every time we roll, we accumulate a green that is stronger, deeper, and more beautiful, in proportion to the friction we endure.