SIMPLE LIVING, PART I

   

A very wise man has pointed out that “simplicity is the peak of civilization.” If one were to apply those words to one’s life, I am certain that they would, in one way or another, take on a different meaning and a dissimilar significance for each person. For me, “simplicity” signifies the elimination of all but what is essential in life, exchanging chaos for peace, and enabling myself to spend my time doing those things that are important to me and with those people who are most important to me.

     A simple life means getting rid of those many things that gnaw away at the time to spend with those people and to follow my passions. It means getting rid of the clutter around me, so that I am then left with only that which makes my life worthwhile.

     Easy enough said; however, achieving simplicity is not always a simple process. In a sense, it is a journey rather than a destination, and it can at times, be a journey where one finds themself sliding backward a step for every two steps forward.

     If I were to sum up what attaining simplicity entails, I would be inclined to say: first of all identify everything that is important to you, and then eliminate everything else. Pick out the best and get rid of the rest. That, however, may be too simple a description of the process. One must not only identify and eliminate, but must learn how to apply “identify and eliminate” to the different facets of one’s life.

     For a while, on these pages, I will attempt to present ideas that I believe should help just about anyone who is either interested in or actually attempting to simply their lives. Not everything I will write about will be totally suited to every person. One must then decide which ones appeal to them and then apply them to their own lives. The path may seem even complicated to some who seek simplicity; yet, one should take their time, read, think, apply (if they can) and then move on.

MORNING MUSINGS OVER COFFEE

MORNING MUSINGS OVER COFFEE

It was an interesting week here in Lake Wobegon – oh wait, that’s Garrison Keillor’s line. Well, anyway it was an interesting week, what with an out-of-season storm that brought snow to the mountains, heavy rain and wind to the city scattering what few sakura were still left on the trees, and the end of the spring break necessitating my going back to work at the university. It’s amazing how only a couple of weeks rest will necessitate massive doses of aspirin when classes start up again! “Oh, the pain, the pain, the pain. I’m getting too old for this!” But the most exciting thing to happen was more in keeping with my activities as a quasi-journalist/writer/historian. It’s no secret that I am an enthusiastic student of Japanese history. Several years ago I published an essay on a figure from post-Meiji history which became extremely popular; however, when I wrote it, I had it in the back of my mind that someday, it could be possibly expanded to a neat little book – if I could find more information.

Recently I started to re-write the essay and expand it. I didn’t think much of it at the time, not a heavy chore, but suddenly I found myself delving deeper and deeper into the history of the Taisho period and the early Showa period, which is fascinating. But I also found myself (of necessity) exploring Chinese history going back to the 1400s, then to the First Opium War, the Qing Dynasty, the Boxer Rebellion, and the Xinhai revolution, Emperor Pu Yi and on and on. I’ve watched “The Last Emperor three times this week if for no other reason than to immerse myself in the era. Even though I surficially knew that Japanese history and Chinese history (not to mention politics) was labarynthine, I had no real idea: twists and turns, plots and subplots, it goes on and on. Well, I thought the treatment of the person that the essay focused on was rather straightforward and conclusive. Then, little bits of new information were revealed, which led to questions and then more questions. Sources were checked and found limited at best; some sources in China (actually as it turns out some of the most important sources) were made unavailable to me and in some cases I was just plain blocked. China, it seems doesn’t like snoops!

Now this simple rewrite project has turned into a full-scale investigation and I even now have my very own “secret agent” in China doing the snooping for me! Suddenly lots of information has been uncovered which is leading to new possibilities for investigation, new information on interrelationships of people involved that I wasn’t aware of – it’s become even more labarynthine – and one heck of a lot of fun! Makes me want to put on my old fedora and trench coat! I can’t wait to see what information develops next 

Copyright 2013 by Hayato Tokugawa and Shisei-Do Publications. All rights reserved.

UNCLE HAYATO'S TEA TALES: NAGAI DŌKYU

UNCLE HAYATO'S TEA TALES:

NAGAI DŌKYU

Nagai Dōkyu, whose real name was Nagai Zenaemon, was a direct vassal of the Tokugawa, was extremely well known for his bravery on the field of battle, but for reasons which have gone unexplained, after the battle at Odawara in 1590, possibly at the direction of Ieyasu, he went to serve under Gamo Ujisato, until his death at Fushimi Caslte in 1583. Dōkyu then went to serve with Uesugi Kagekatsu, and eventually retired to Fukaya in Kazusa province, which is now part of Chiba Prefecture, where he took up the life of a wealthy, provincial gentleman.

An old friend once sent him a very fine Seto tea caddy which he treasured greatly, but alas, one day, one of his maids accidentally dropped it and the caddy was broken. Of course, Dōkyu was upset and disciplined her soundly. Wishing to make amends to her master, the maid immediately went to her quarters and returned with a little pot that she had kept among her few valuables, and gave it to him; asking him to please use it as a tea caddy instead. Well, Dōkyu was reluctant at first, but eventually accepted the token of her regret, but in truth, he paid little attention to it and placed no great value on it.

Now, it just so happens that sometime later, the esteemed tea master, Kobori Maskazu, whom you may know as Kobori Enshū (小堀 遠州)a great artist, not to mention an aristocrat, the founder of the Enshū-ryū, was travelling in the area and stopped by to visit. There, he happened to notice the meager pot which Dōkyu occasionally used as a tea caddy. Enshū looked upon the small vessel in total amazement. Indeed, as he told Dōkyu, it was very rare, without a doub t a Chinese example of a Katatsuki, or a “shouldered jar.”

As Master Enshū instructed Dōkyu, the areas of Seto and Mino, which are now part of Gifu prefecture, were the centers for the production of such unglazed, utilitarian ceramic ware. There, the potters drew their inspiration from Chinese ceramics, including boththe green celadon porcelains and the dark brown tenmoku ware. In fact, as the Master explained, early tenmoku ceramics evolved from failed attempts to produce the Chinese celadon ceramics, but later, were given a brown-iron glaze and then fired at high temperatures to produce a glossy, brown surface, just as his tea caddy possessed.

Dōkyu could not have been more amazed or delighted. Out of respect for the object he gave it the name “Nagai Katatsuki” and treasured it, and the maid who had given it to him, quite higly. Later, after his passing, the “Nagai Katatsuki” became on of the treasures of the Tokugawa family.

What good fortune he had. But there are other stories as well about his good fortune. Let me tell you one of them, not about tea, but about a sword.

Dōkyu was once invited by his close friend Itakura Katsushige, who fought alongside Ieyasu at the Battle of Sekigahara, to come to Kyōto with him and visit the great leader. As it was, those were still rough times, and Dōkyu was a very trusting sort of man, and some would say a bit naïve as well. On his way to Kyōto he happened to meet a rōnin along the way, in Nagoya. Because he wished to visit a relative along the way, Dōkyu left his baggage with the rōnin and hurried on, but when he returned, he found that, as you might expect, the rōnin ha dleft, taking withim Nagai’s sword. But not being a totally deisprespectful man, the brigand left his own worn out rusty sword in its place.

Well, there was nothing else to do but to put on the sword himself and continue with his journey to Kyōto. When he arrived, Itakura told him that the autnorities were “cleaning out” the prison of condemned prisoners in anticiapation of the Shōgun’s arrival and he had ordered the sharpening of twenty or so swords for the executions. Dōkyu thought that perhaps this was the ideal opportunity to sharpen the old sword he had ben left with, and went to seen Honami, the sword sharpener, who looked it over and said that a little work, the sword should cut very well indeed. Once the work was done, and since there were several criminals still to be executed, Nagai had the sword tested on one of the prisoners. Just as Honami predicted, the sword cut through the condemned man’s neck as easy as anything.

Feeling a bit better about the sword, he took it back to Honami who took it apart so that it could be sharpened more and polished as well. When Honami took the sword apart and inspected the tang, he found the name “Masamune” on it. Honami was amazed and delighted and certified it as being a example of the great sword maker’s work. Nagai was ecstatic and in time, he presented the sword to Ieyasu as a gift. From that time on it was treasured by the Tokugawa as the “Nagai Masamune.”

Copyright 2013 by Hayato Tokugawa and Shisei-Do Publications. All rights reserved.

PENNIES

PENNIES

When I was a small boy, in the days when my grandfather was still a young man, nobody resented wasting a little time. I wonder, did that represent a deliberate judgment, from a time when we were less hurried or frantic, or was it merely foolishness?

If I were to speak to those who, out of foolishness, are lazy, I would tell them that while a penny is of little value on its own, that an accumulation of pennies will, in time, make a rich man of a poor one. It is for this very reason that a merchant is so likely to hoard each and every one of his coins. As we go about our sometimes distracted, frantic days, we may not be aware of the passing moments; yet, we spend them as if they too have little value, until suddenly, they are all spent. For this very reason, would not a wise man not bemoan the passage times yet to come, but instead lament the wasting of a single present moment?

AFTER THE VIOLENCE

In The Aftermath of the Violence

This morning, the television news programs were filled with political pundits and would-be wise men, all searching for easy solutions to something where there are no easy solutions — weapons bans, tighter weapons control, harsher penalties for violent crime, making school buildings more secure, more care for the mentally ill (assuming one can identify who is mentally ill). As usual, the national hysteria, the national neurosis rages, the national breast-beating; and as usual nothing will get done. Before anything else, America, as a nation, as a people, needs to look deep within and realize the culture of violence that dwells there. Nothing will be done, nothing can be done, until that culture of violence, that ethos where bloody murder is the commonplace, is realized and changed within each heart – within each family. I know all too well. I’ve been cleaning up the messes of that culture all my life.

(Twenty children and six adults killed in a massacre at the Newtown, Connecticut elementary school were all shot multiple times, many with a rifle, wielded by a lone gunman, on December 14, 2012.)

SPECK OF LIGHT

speck of light flashes

rising, falling in the sun

just a speck of dust

Lying on my bed this afternoon, listening to Mozart, and looking up toward the ceiling through a sunbeam that descended from the window, I saw a small flashing light rising and falling on invisible thermals. It drew nearer and near, rising and falling, moving back ward and forward, but never too close, escaping closer inspection by riding on my breath. On and off, on and off, it flashed; and I wondered. Was it a speck of dust, or the light of some life, somewhere else in this time and dimension, or perhaps some other, telling me that it existed? A sparkling dot where no other dust drifted — a tiny beacon on its own.

And then it was gone.

Was that a life? My life? Our lives? Are we destined to flash and sparkle brightly and dance on the wind, only to suddenly find oblivion?

Someday I’ll find out.

MENTAL MEANDERINGS OVER MORNING TEA

The morning mist rises yura yura,

And drifts above the bamboo forest.

Pandas pee.