Apr 8, 2017
Today the clouds passed over by mid-morning. Now the sun covers us, shining through sakura and sprouting tree branches. There are fewer pieces of trash lining the sidewalk below my window. I did not see the small man who usually sleeps in that cold space at night – where is he now?
I think about that August air in Japan in 1945. If the summer was as humid, as heavy, as summers these days how many ghosts were created that moment when all that existed at the centers of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were incinerated. Why do histories agree on some things, but not others? The faces of half-burned children on my wall beckon me.
I can feel them trying to communicate with me, on days like this. Like the premise of the film —. I can feel someone in the past tugging on me, from the inside, beneath the layers of my clothing, flesh, organs, bones. Deeply. Deeper. Deeper than fact, deeper too than love. There is a destined knowing awaiting me. Part of the puzzle was here, where my great-great-grandfather arrived in 1906. Something is waiting in the desert that I must find.
I have come to believe that it was no mistake that I received this gift of vision and complexity of sight into the world’s plurality and suffering. Some of the pieces of this puzzle, too, were always here inside me. Though still invisible, somehow everything is right here.
Today is the day to buy broccoli, to pick lavender and bring home blueberries. The laundry is in the basket and the bed is made.