Am back home now. In Australia. It’s cold, wet and overcast. The sun sets early. Did I mention it was cold and wet? And overcast?
It’s all so weird. Back at Mum and Dad’s house. Back in Sydney. It all feels like a dream. I don’t think it was, otherwise that was the most expensive dream I’ve had.
But no, still no mountain top inspiration to pass on to all. Maybe I used all my inspiration up at Mt Aso, the volcano where I built a rock cairn. Or perhaps travelling to the tin-pot little fishing village near Minoshima where perhaps the last Westeners seen there were from WWII, wishing we had at least taken some beer. Or perhaps it was seeing the 300 year old festival floats being taken around Takayama. Or waiting between Takayama and Toyama at a train station on top of the Japan Alps, wondering when the single carriage train would turn up for the second half of the trip. Or perhaps the smell of Beppu, fart capital of the world and soaking in volcanic hot water in a community run onsen, so out of the way you’d never find it. Although, Mastumoto Castle, with it’s moon viewing turret was pretty good as well. Seeing the 500 stone Buddhas and cave where A Book of Five Rings was written after Miyamoto Musashi meditated for 90 days, but not before travelling by train for 2 hours, bus fo 30 minutes and then walking past rice paddies on the side of a mountain with views that were undescribale. Or maybe, just maybe it was sitting in a 300 year old zen garden in a place so remote that being a Westerner in itself was a novelty.
Or perhaps there is no mountain top inspiration to be had. Maybe I’m looking for the forest, when I don’t even know what trees are. There is no destination. There is no single point, no singularity, no moment generating function spitting out mathematical moments. It just was.
I have a plan, and the plan is to return to Japan, to continue to live a life more full than the slob I was before. But for now I take each day as it comes (though there are a few I’ll hide away from and duck under.) But in general things can’t go back to normal, because there is no normal. Not for me, not anymore.
It’s been fun to do this, but now the time has come to finish what I started. Although I have lots more to say, I need to write it down, scribble it out, clean it up, throw it away and start again. But not before meditating in a cave for 90 days up a mountain side to really, really consider what’s important and what isn’t.
And after that, then maybe, just maybe I’ll stop.
But I don’t think so.