Chu-Hi! Azabu obo-on matsuuri, circa 2005. Life as a ronin sensei was not all bad.
I was that man in the uniform. For how many years. I watched what I said, I observed the system and obeyed. At the same time, I defined my own reality, found a way to be creative through the cracks.
Teaching English in Japan was an extended experiment in self-reliance. I defined my jobs and workplace past the first year as a directly hired and contracted freelancer. A ronin sensei dressed in Bankok-tailored kashmir suit.
And you know what I found as that foreign ronin in the suit? When no one understands exactly what you are saying, you can tell the truth.
I remember, in 2005, when I decided to resign from Tokai high school, just prior to WOOFing in the Seto Naikai and Tanegashima for two months––I arranged two special farewell classes, though I did not tip my egregiously salary-deducting supervisor that I was doing so.
In the first class, as an English lesson, I played several times and taught the lyrics to Jack Johnson's Traffic in the Sky* and Otis Redding's Dock of the Bay. Two songs that particularly resonated at the time.
The next class involved playing the movie "The Day After Tomorrow"and quizzing students on it. This also resonated in a land of earthquakes and tsunamis (like Northern California, a fragile confluence of buildings along the ring of fire).
Did I have an effect? I don't know, intelligent teens may have been influenced.
I only know that I had fabric in my mind, long before it became formalized as a concept. To have sustainability in your heart and to travel, seek patterns and blockages. To understand why the destruction of the earth's atmosphere and places of natural beauty is not decelerating.
#endwriter
* Narrowly won out over The Horizon Has Been Defeated. Why traffic? Well, you know...
There's traffic in the sky
And it doesn't seem to be getting much better
There's kids playing games on the pavement
Drawing waves on the pavement
Shadows of the planes on the pavement
Its enough to make me cry
But that don't seem like it would make it feel better
Maybe its a dream and if I scream
It will burst at the seams
This whole place will fall to pieces
And then they'd say...
Well how could we have known?
I'll tell them it's not so hard to tell
If you keep on adding stones
Soon the water will be lost in the well
Puzzle pieces in the ground
But no one ever seems to be digging
Instead they're looking up towards the heavens
With their eyes on the heavens
There are shadows on the way to the heavens
It's enough to make me cry
But that don't seem like it would make it feel better
The answers could be found
We could learn from digging down
But no one ever seems to be digging
Instead they'll say...
Well how could we have known?
I'll tell them it's not so hard to tell
If you keep on adding stones
Soon the water will be lost in the well
Words of wisdom all around
But no one ever seems to listen
They're talking about their plans on paper
Building up from the pavement
There are shadows from the scrapers on the pavement
It's enough to make me sigh
But that don't seem like it would make it feel better
The words are still around
But the words are only sounds
And no one ever seems to listen
Instead they'll say
Well how could we have known?
I'll tell them it's not so hard to tell
If you keep on adding stones
Soon the water will be lost in the well
Teaching English in Japan was an extended experiment in self-reliance. I defined my jobs and workplace past the first year as a directly hired and contracted freelancer. A ronin sensei dressed in Bankok-tailored kashmir suit.
And you know what I found as that foreign ronin in the suit? When no one understands exactly what you are saying, you can tell the truth.
I remember, in 2005, when I decided to resign from Tokai high school, just prior to WOOFing in the Seto Naikai and Tanegashima for two months––I arranged two special farewell classes, though I did not tip my egregiously salary-deducting supervisor that I was doing so.
In the first class, as an English lesson, I played several times and taught the lyrics to Jack Johnson's Traffic in the Sky* and Otis Redding's Dock of the Bay. Two songs that particularly resonated at the time.
The next class involved playing the movie "The Day After Tomorrow"and quizzing students on it. This also resonated in a land of earthquakes and tsunamis (like Northern California, a fragile confluence of buildings along the ring of fire).
Did I have an effect? I don't know, intelligent teens may have been influenced.
I only know that I had fabric in my mind, long before it became formalized as a concept. To have sustainability in your heart and to travel, seek patterns and blockages. To understand why the destruction of the earth's atmosphere and places of natural beauty is not decelerating.
#endwriter
* Narrowly won out over The Horizon Has Been Defeated. Why traffic? Well, you know...
There's traffic in the sky
And it doesn't seem to be getting much better
There's kids playing games on the pavement
Drawing waves on the pavement
Shadows of the planes on the pavement
Its enough to make me cry
But that don't seem like it would make it feel better
Maybe its a dream and if I scream
It will burst at the seams
This whole place will fall to pieces
And then they'd say...
Well how could we have known?
I'll tell them it's not so hard to tell
If you keep on adding stones
Soon the water will be lost in the well
Puzzle pieces in the ground
But no one ever seems to be digging
Instead they're looking up towards the heavens
With their eyes on the heavens
There are shadows on the way to the heavens
It's enough to make me cry
But that don't seem like it would make it feel better
The answers could be found
We could learn from digging down
But no one ever seems to be digging
Instead they'll say...
Well how could we have known?
I'll tell them it's not so hard to tell
If you keep on adding stones
Soon the water will be lost in the well
Words of wisdom all around
But no one ever seems to listen
They're talking about their plans on paper
Building up from the pavement
There are shadows from the scrapers on the pavement
It's enough to make me sigh
But that don't seem like it would make it feel better
The words are still around
But the words are only sounds
And no one ever seems to listen
Instead they'll say
Well how could we have known?
I'll tell them it's not so hard to tell
If you keep on adding stones
Soon the water will be lost in the well
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