by Lucy Dickens
I sit on the floor of my room while a monk brings in a large, lacquered black tray filled with tiny plates of food morsels. I’m doing my best to smile my face off to show my gratitude, because I’m not sure I should be babbling a million thank yous while he’s so quiet and careful.
When he’s laid everything out on my table he says, ‘All vegetarian, this is what Buddhist monks like to eat.’ And with that he bows and leaves and I’m left to devour this all on my own. It’s odd not having a TV or other people to stare at, but it does keep my focus on the crunch of the bamboo shoots, the zing of the ginger on the spongy tofu, the crisp of tempura sugar snap peas, the vinegary heat of udon soup and the salty, slimy squish of grilled aubergine.
My tummy is full and happy and it gurgles with thanks for all the fresh, healthy grub. And since the light is fading, I slide open the door to my room and pad back towards the reception desk area. On the way I pass a couple heading the opposite direction down a corridor.
‘Konbanwa, sumimasen,’ I stop them. ‘Do you speak English?’
‘Sure,’ answers the guy, his accent North American and his muscly arms looking well … let’s just say I was looking. ‘Can we help you with something?’
‘Oh, great. Do you know what Nissokan is? It was on the schedule for tonight at sunset but I’m not sure where to go. Or what to do.’
‘I can help you with that,’ says a voice behind me, and I turn to see the monk from earlier, the one that brought in my dinner. He is young, but a little older than me, maybe early thirties? His head is shaved, his jawline strong, and his mouth curved into a smile.
The couple continue on their way and the monk bows to them. ‘I will see you in there,’ he says to them.
‘You speak good English,’ I say, in bad English.
‘Only a little, and only when it is important.’
‘I’m Charlotte,’ I bow, which he returns.
‘Follow me, Charlotte, I will show you Nissokan.’
He leads me through a doorway and into a large open room, tatami-matted floor, and a handful of other guests and monks finding a spot to sit on the ground, adjusting their bottoms to be comfortable, rolling their shoulders. They’re all facing west, where the entire length of the room has been opened up via sliding shoji panels. Outside, the sun has broken under the clouds and shines directly towards the temple, giving everybody a beautiful golden glow on their face. Under the peach sky, the trees and bushes follow the hill down and are a copper-tipped jade in the evening light.
‘Take a seat,’ the monk tells me with a smile. ‘This is the practice of Nissokan. We will meditate as we watch the setting sun and you can imagine the paradise of the Pure Land.’
‘How do I do that?’ I whisper, out of my depth.
‘However you want to. There are no rules, this is a calm meditation anybody can do anywhere. No experience or knowledge is necessary. It is good for the soul.’
He steps back away from me and I settle in, but the minute I close my eyes I’m aware of how uncomfortable my ankle is, twisted under me. I quietly poke one leg out so it’s straight and turn my head to look at the monk. He catches my eye and I point to my bandaged ankle, and he simply nods and smiles and shuts his eyes, so I think it really is okay.
Mmmm, this is nice. I alternate between eyes closed, just aware of the glow and warmth on my face as the sun sinks in the sky, and opening my eyes to watch it fall asleep. I watch the sky change from honey to lavender and search my soul for the answers I’ve been looking for. Who am I? What do I need? What should I do?
They’re big questions to come up with all the answers for right now, and I feel a chill coming to shelter in the room once the sun has gone, which causes the guests and the monks alike to stretch and stand up, bowing to each other before silently leaving the room.
‘What did you think?’ the monk asks me.
‘That was …’ I look back out at the view. ‘Can I do that every night?’
‘You can do it as often as you need to do it. Of course you can come back and practise tomorrow night.’
I notice that, even though darkness is settling in outside, the pathways of the temples are visible still. ‘Can I take a walk in the temple grounds?’
He nods. ‘Of course, it’s a very pleasant thing to do.’
I stop back at my room to layer up a little, and then make my way to the entrance I came into. I presume I can put my trainers back on for the outside walking … I look around. Oh bugger, I really don’t want to make a knob out of myself by doing the wrong thing here. So I loiter on the steps until a family of other guests return from, presumably, their evening stroll, and when I clock that they’re all in their ‘outdoor shoes’, I quickly change into mine.
When I step down onto the gravelly pathway it’s clear how the routes were all still illuminated after the sun had gone down. Leading me left and right, up steps and down steps and over bridges, is lantern after lantern. Paper lanterns that hang from trees, glowing reds and whites and each with carefully stencilled Japanese calligraphy on them. Stone lanterns that stand tall in the ground like bird houses that have a reading light on inside them. It’s like being back in Borderless, inside the ‘forest of resonating lamps’, only this is art outside in real life.
I walk along paths, over bridges, under gateways, through the zen garden, all the while keeping my pace slow and the techniques of shinrin-yoku, forest bathing, to mind to make sure I’m really concentrating and capturing all this. The sounds of the wet gravel under my feet, the crickets chirruping, the water babbling through the stream, a faraway whoosh of a train, it all seeps into me, so that by the time I’ve done a full loop it’s like I’ve been listening to one of those eight-hour ‘night sounds’ tracks on YouTube and I think I’m ready to climb into bed. Even if it is only about seven thirty in the evening.
As I lie on my futon, snuggled under my soft duvet, and listen to the discreet sounds of night wildlife beyond my window, my soul relishes this alone time.
It’s funny … when I first arrived in Tokyo, I felt free and excited to be going solo, but the second I stopped being busy and was left to my thoughts the loneliness kicked in. I remember, what, three and a half weeks ago, I guess, sitting in my room in the Park Hyatt and feeling lost. Then the tour started and I had company again, and an itinerary, and people to tell me where to go and what to do, lovely people, but it was a plaster, a band aid over the problem and I’d then craved to be alone again, to feel that loneliness and experience being lost.
And now, I’m enjoying being alone. Here I’m eating alone, sleeping alone, walking alone, but it isn’t lonely.
DONG.
DONG.
DONG.
All right already, I’m awake! I reach to switch off my alarm only to realise it’s coming from outside the room. A moment later I clock the time.
Jumping out of bed and cursing under my breath because I forgot about my ankle, I throw on my clothes as quickly as I can and slide out of the door. It’s 6am, morning prayer time, and I expect it would be super-disrespectful if I was late. In the corridor I whirl about because in the rush I don’t actually know where to go, so now I’m twirling about like there’s a fire drill and I can’t find the emergency exit.
‘Ah-ha!’ I whisper, looking out of a window and spotting other guests, their hair dishevelled and rubbing their eyes, making their way towards a separate building behind this one.
I race out of the entranceway and then slow to a zen-like pace as I catch up with the others, just managing to join at the back before the doors are closed.
Inside, the prayer hall is dim, and candles burn while incense drifts up towards the ceiling. I take the lead from the other guests, who sit and watch with respectful interest as the monks chant and move around the hall, but don’t actively join in the hour-long ceremony.
Can you believe I would never have done this if I’d stayed on my tour? What an experience.
And afterwards, thankfully, is when my tummy lets off the most
massive growl.
Back in my room and over a scrumptious veggie breakfast I decide to give Benny a FaceTime.
‘Hey bro! First of all – I don’t have a lot of signal here so sorry if we cut out. Are you okay?’ I notice that his face, usually so smiley and carefree, appears sallow, his smile forced.
‘Yeah, I’m fine, where are you at the moment?’
‘I’m in a monastery, a Buddhist temple, I’m staying here for a few days. Are you in bed already? Very well behaved, B, to not be out partying tonight.’
He smiles into the camera.
‘Benny, what’s up, you don’t seem yourself?’
‘I’m fine, tell me about your temple.’
I ignore him. ‘How’s the studying going? You said you weren’t feeling very motivated before …’
He sighs and is quiet for a while, before simply saying, ‘Yeah.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘I don’t know.’
I channel my inner-Mara. ‘Okay then, I think we should talk about it. What’s on your mind?’
‘I just feel really … confused.’ He puts a hand over his eyes and my heart breaks. My brother.
‘Please don’t cry, B, it’s okay. I can help. I can help.’ Oh but what if I can’t, I’m so far away. ‘Just breathe, breathe with me, in-two-three-four, out-two-three-four.’
He lifts his head. ‘I’m doing all this work and I don’t feel at all interested in it.’
‘What’s changed?’
‘I don’t know. Me. I don’t think I’m who I always thought I was any more.’
Well that’s a familiar feeling. ‘It’s okay to change and grow, you know, and you’re under so much pressure at the moment.’
‘It’s not just that,’ he rubs his eyes again, the tears falling, and all I want to do is be there with him.
‘What is it?’ I whisper.
‘It’s me. I don’t know who I am any more and I don’t know what to do. You’re out there finding yourself and all I’m doing is losing myself.’
‘You’re not losing yourself, Benny, I promise. I don’t know everything that’s going on in your head but I can promise you that if it feels like you’re lost at the moment it’s just because your brain is figuring out what to put in the next chapter.’
He seems to let this sink in, but his little face still looks sad and distant.
‘Benny?’ I say, and he looks up and into the camera. ‘I’m sorry I said you shouldn’t come out to Japan. I didn’t realise you were going through this.’
‘It’s fine, it would have just been running away anyway.’
‘Sometimes it’s okay to run away.’
‘But running away to try and copy you probably wouldn’t help me with me. It’s okay, really. I couldn’t afford to come to Japan anyway at the moment, you must be broke AF.’
I smile. ‘I am a bit. But even so, you don’t have to go through this alone you know. Alone is working for me but I’m only alone in the sense of having time away from other people. I’m actually getting so much help from being around nature and new scenery and different experiences. Maybe you could talk to someone, or maybe you could try some new things? You don’t need to fly halfway across the world to do that.’
‘I’m scared to try new things,’ he says, and I can see he’s really struggling with something. He’s always been thoughtful, but he seems to have gone into himself more than usual.
‘I know,’ I comfort him. ‘I know. It’s not easy, but be kind to yourself, and give yourself the time to think and breathe and take your foot off the accelerator for a while.’
He sniffs and the screen freezes midway through. ‘Bugger,’ I mutter, and I stand up, walking around the room until it comes back to life again.
‘Charlie?’ he’s saying. ‘Oh there you are.’
‘Benny, I’m sorry, I’m losing signal.’
‘That’s okay, I’m just going to go to sleep.’
‘Do you need to keep talking though? I can try and call you back?’
‘No, go and enjoy your day, I’ll speak to you soon.’
‘Are you going to be okay though?’
He nods. ‘Thanks for listening, sis. Let’s chat more when you’re home.’
‘Okay … Bye, B, take care.’
‘You too, C.’
I hang up the phone and pick at a spot on my face for a while, staring out of the window. I wish I knew what he was going through, I wish I knew how to help.
Mara, are you awake? I text my sister.
Yes, are you okay?
Have you spoken to Benny?
My phone rings and I grab it before it cuts out. ‘Mara, what’s going on?’
‘I don’t know, that’s why I was calling you. What’s up with Benny?’
I hear the sound of giggling and squealing in the background and then it goes silent. ‘What was that?’
‘I was turning the TV off,’ Mara answers.
‘I recognised the background music …’
‘It was the news.’
‘No … Mara, are you watching Love Island?!’
‘No,’ she cries. But she bloody was. That’s so unlike her, or so I thought, but I guess everyone is always on a journey to discovering what they do and don’t like, so fair play to her. ‘Anyway, tell me about Benny.’
‘We just spoke and he’s so down,’ I say, bringing it back to the reason we’re speaking. ‘I’m worried about him; he was talking about feeling lost and not knowing what to do. He was crying.’
‘He was crying?’ My big sister sounded just as surprised as I had been.
‘Shall I call Mum and tell her?’
‘No, not yet. Marissa mentioned he showed up the other week to stay for a few days without much notice.’
‘I think I should come home,’ I say.
‘Oh, stop with the coming home, he’s really going to be fine, Charlie. I’m going to drive over there now and I’ll stay with him until he’s okay.’
She’s always been so self-assured, my sister, and I love that about her.
‘But it’s the middle of the night.’
‘It’s barely past ten, and I can be there in a couple of hours.’
‘What about work tomorrow?’
‘I’m the boss, I can do what I like.’
‘You always know what the right thing to do is,’ I tell Mara, relaxing a little knowing she’s got it in hand.
‘No, I don’t, nobody does,’ she replies briskly, but I know she’s saying it to make me feel better, and she’ll probably say the same to Benny too. ‘Okay, you bugger off and enjoy the last few days of your trip, and I’ll text you with updates on our little brother.’
‘Thanks Mara, I appreciate it.’
‘Bye, love.’
Chapter 17
Delicate flowers
Branching out when a silence
Is interrupted
I stand just inside the doorway of the small, sunlit room, fiddling with the cuff of my jumper. A few other people are standing around as well, admiring the artwork on the wall, or looking out of the window, but keeping an eye on the shoji to see who will enter next.
‘Have you done this before?’ an American girl asks me, the one who’s with muscle-man I met in the corridor yesterday, who is currently taking a little meditation break at the side of the room in a beam of sunshine, by himself.
‘No,’ I answer. ‘Have you?’
She shakes her head. ‘The monk, the one who speaks English, was telling us that the lady that runs the class is the one who makes the flower arrangements you see in the alcoves around the temple. It isn’t normal to have an ikebana class somewhere like this but because she comes every few weeks, they decided guests might like to try it out, and that way it gives her a bit of help, I suppose.’
‘So will our arrangements end up around the temple?’
She shrugs. ‘I guess.’
At that moment we hear someone approaching the door. ‘Ohayo!’ calls a muffled voice. ‘Oh
ayo!’
Oh, I think she wants someone to open the door. I turn and slide open the panel, coming face-to-face with a mass of stems, branches, spring flowers and foliage. A woman pokes her head around the side and grins at me. ‘Arigato!’
In she comes with all of her garden, and spends the next few minutes coming in and out with pots, dishes, scissors, etc. At one point I try to follow and help her but she waves me back into the room, so instead I check my phone for news from Mara: nothing.
Once she’s got everything she needs, she encourages us to all sit in a circle with our legs tucked underneath us. I have to stick one leg out again which makes me feel like a bit of an idiot but she doesn’t seem to mind. She then hands out pieces of paper to us all, and pencils.
‘English?’ she asks as she’s handing out the paper, and I see it’s a printed guide to Ikebana, translated into English, which is kind of her.
So here’s the dealio. Ikebana is Japanese flower arranging, and it’s quite distinctive. Each arrangement is like a work of art, be it small or large, and there are delicate techniques involved to get the stuff – the flowers and branches and things – the right size but also displaying them at their best. It’s an artform. For that reason, I don’t fancy my chances all that much.
‘Watashi wa Mio desu,’ the woman introduces herself, and then adds, ‘Mio means beautiful cherry blossom.’ We laugh: how ace to have a name that suits your job.
She gestures to us to choose one of the pots in front of her, all different shapes and sizes, and I go for a small, shallow dish, pale green, about the size of my hand.
