Minds, Limits

It was about two years ago beneath a tree on the island of Maui, near the deserted guava trees and the trail that goes through thick bamboo forests and up to the ever pouring water fall that lies above Infinity Pool with it's 300 foot drop below, that I first realized in a very profound way the limits of my skull, the limits of my mind, the limits of my head and the specificities of the sensory organs on my head. It was not as though I had not looked in the mirror. It was not as though I had not noticed my two nostrils, my two ears on either side, my two eyes which brought the light in, and my good old mouth which welcomed the food and drink that I was always so lucky to have. No no.

To be good and honest I was not feeling so well that day. I had come by a sickness that had made me feel weak and I was laying under a tree for shade and rest. The rest of my friends had run off to enjoy the view at Infinity pool. I just wanted some time to rest and that I did. Luckily I was not alone; there was a horned cow roaming around the field next to me (the kind that roam around those parts eating the rotten mangoes that carpeted the ground under the mango trees and by the old banyon trees that spread their wiring limbs this way and that).

The cow, although I was invading its territory, let me rest there in peace. I thanked it by promising I would not eat any more cows for the rest of my life (it had big, scary horns and I was in no mood to run, thus I was thankful at its niceness and wanted to return the favor). Unfortunately I forgot about my promise one day when I was really hungry and there was beef to be eaten. I guess that I ate it with more respect than I had had before. But I have always loved cows (especially since milking them and being shat on by them in a barn in Vermont).

Anyhow I somehow learned that day that my head was pretty small in terms of the world around it, that it had a strange concentration of sensory organs on it, and that some weird things were somehow going on inside of it (my processing of all of those organs). Let's just say that my head felt very round and large and at the same time very confined.

Since then I have seen other limits that relate to one's head. One can only keep so much stuff in one's head, one can only bear so many burdens, one can only think so much, one can only stay up so late, etc. I have been seeing that one can only do so much in a day and that those days add together to make up a life. (It's simple enough, but even simple things are worth noting from time to time.) I certainly knew that there were already things that have passed me by and things that would pass me by in the future. I had not been the football star, the rock and roll star, the famous actor, the what-not, etc. However I complimented those realizations with the rationalizations that I did not and would not want to be even if given the chance. And I still agree with many of those rationalizations.

Tonight I had my adult conversation class. It was rewarding, delightful, easy, friendly. It is not really a job or even a task, but a sort of accomodation for friendship and good feelings. Everyone is there not to necessarily learn English, but to be together, to have a cause together. English is the excuse. There was a moment in the class where half the room was silent, relaxed, and the other half was simply laughing. It was the kind of laughing done when one feels the absurdity, the lightness, and the gravity of life all at the same time. Or something like that.

I had known for some time that most of the people in the class would not learn that much more English than they already know. Many of them had already lived the parts of their lives that would involve traveling and communicating in English. Also, they had done other things besides English. They had lived their lives and surely had done things that were important for them, good for them, and maybe sometimes bad for them. But English was not number one, nor should it have been.

And this is all to say... that I love the freedom of not having to make a clear point but to be able to always get straight to the point despite its confusion. And I apologize for bringing you along for the ride thus far on this screen, this black screen with light letters.

And these dolls, these crazy Bunraku, two-faced dolls.



And Yuusuke's parents.


And Yuusuke with his parents.
And my mother with the best of Ubuyama hospitality on her last day.


And my frehly shaved head, some sensory organs included.

And that sad old hand-carved head above.

The roudness of the heads, the limits to them.

A true attempt at reconcilitation and understanding must fail in order for it to be an honest attempt. Desu ne? Take care out there.