Bells and sticks

God, or fate, or the stars - or whatever you want to call a larger power, bigger than the rest of us - certainly has a great sense of humour. You just have to be in the mood for laughing.

Which I now am.

After writing the last post, I promptly drove down to my favourite Japanese shrine, which lies in the middle of a deep cave near my house, next to the sea. It's dark, it's silent, water drips from the cave rocks into puddles, and it feels absolutely peaceful: it's impossible to go there and not feel as if something is listening, even if it's just an inner part of yourself. It's where I go to regenerate and think, and I often find myself praying. I haven't quite worked out what or who I'm praying to yet - I don't believe in God - but it feels natural and it feels right in this shrine, so I pray. Or, more specifically, I say thankyou.

"Thankyou," I said, ringing the bell, "for making me feel better today. Thankyou for making me feel alright to be alone. Thankyou for clearing the way so I can think more cleanly. Thankyou for making today seem like the start of something much happier. Thankyou because I don't hurt."

That's alright, the little voice - almost definitely just a part of myself - said. No worries.

And then I grabbed my cigarettes and made for the beach. I've been to many beautiful places in the last few weeks, but none of them match the little beach next to my house: a beach bordered with blue mountains and headed by a faint moon and a halo of pink. I walked past a very young, good looking Japanese boy on a bike - ignoring the fact that he swivelled to look at me (of course he swivelled to look at me: I'm foreign, nearly six foot and wearing bright orange MC Hammer trousers) - and walked calmly down to the water to smoke and gaze and smile and generally feel happier and more content than I have in an extremely long time. And then, when I had done smoking and gazing and smiling, I acted on a silly whim, grabbed a stick, walked down to the wet sand and wrote:

I am free.

In large, curly writing. And stood, completely still, and watched the sea edge towards it, until it finally wiped out the words: which seemed like exactly the right thing for the sea to do.

As I came back to my car, still smiling and feeling utterly peaceful, the young boy on the bike unexpectedly rode towards me and said - in an American accent -

"Where are you from?"
It took a few moments to process that he wasn't speaking Japanese, before I managed to reply:
"England."
"Hi," he said. "I'm Elliot. I'm American Japanese. I just got here." He told me that he came here for the surfing, that he didn't speak much Japanese, that he didn't know many people and that it would be great to hang out some time or surf. And then he asked for my number. So I gave it to him and asked him to come to a festival next week: I know what it's like to be young, to have nobody to hang out with, and - frankly - there simply aren't enough English speakers in Nichinan to say no to new friends. Even if I've just managed to get rid of one, considerably older, half Japanese boy who likes surfing and riding bikes.

As I drove away, I found myself laughing out loud and looking at the sky. And I swear that I could almost hear the sky chuckling back.

"Very funny," I told the sky. "Very fucking funny."
Ahahahaha. I thought it would be hilarious. All that bell ringing and praying and beach writing. Figured the irony would give you a good laugh.
"It did, actually. Cheers."

It's been said by many that life is not a tragedy, and it's not a comedy: it's somewhere in between. And - if that is true - there are always times to laugh. You just have to be looking out for them.

And now, at last, I am.