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Shinko. Close up.

Moving on (from the Great Eastern Japan Seismic disaster)

L'amour
Une contribution de Ronan MacDubhghaill
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Acheter
For one year now, I have been carrying with me something of the emptiness left by the Tohoku Dai Shinsai - the Great Eastern Japan Seismic disaster. But that emptiness is something I had before, too, an emptiness I think that sits with us all in some way, a weight which is for us to carry, for we have no other choice.
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“Keizoku wa chikara nari”, he said, his hands deftly sliding along the rim of the wheel, the same as if it might be a great big clipper ship and he a captain. Nagayama-san seemed never to grow weary, but just to tick over at that same steady rate - slow, sure, but he always got where he was going, and there was no-one who could take him down. If anyone tried, he’d just move aside, anyway.
When I saw that he wasn’t going to expand on that, wasn’t going to tell me what it meant, well, I went I was meant to go, said what I had to say, and asked.
“Keizoku wa chikara nari. That means… Hard to say it in English. It means, you keep going, because sometimes that is all there is to do. Keep going to keep going, to become strong again. You feel like you’ve lost everything, and when it feels you have nothing more to give, that gets taken from you, too. But strength is in continuity.”

We try to move on, carrying so much of it with us, when the truth is that to love, to live, is also to let go. That’s true not just for tsunamis, earthquakes and disasters, but also for the detritus each of us accumulates through the course of our everyday lives. Nobody, I think, gets out of life alive, unscathed, unmarked.

He stopped the car at the crossing, where the lights no longer worked. There was no electricity, but then, there were no trains, either.
Crossing cautiously, he stopped halfway to leave the road for an old man crossing through the dark by himself.
“Keizoku wa chikara nari. You take strength from that loss itself, little by little, everyday. You are training in Kendō, but maybe you get an injury, maybe you injure your neck, so you train in Iaidō. Maybe you hurt your knees - you can try Kyūdō. Maybe you get too sick or old or stiff to do that - learn Sadōr. But you keep going. You must keep going.”
We drove past two houses, the entire ground floors gutted. In the darkness, the tangled mess of wires and rags, remains of what was once a wall, now twisting, contorted in the darkness swayed in such a way so as to suggest at first glance someone was standing there, or had been. The cars we drove past, cleared from the road as if from the world, were stacked up along the bank, as if they were toys mislaid by a child-god who no longer cared for them. Others still were scattered amongst the trees that struggled to break free to the spring. Most of the cars had crosses spray-painted across them.
“Why?” I asked, again, just as I had to.
“Why? Why ask why? Why do you always have to ask why?” Said Nagayama-san, glancing at me sidelong, and barking a gruff laugh, gravely, affectionately. “Because if you want to understand what Budō means, you must. Even the sharpest sword must be oiled, ground, sharpened still. You need to prune a Sakura to get the best cherry-blossoms. Things happen, despite and beyond you, but you must still take part.”

Never, you will never be satisfied with yourself. Your soul, it is far too restless. But at those moments when you think everything is gone, all you need to do is to let go to see that you are not alone, and that you can make it.

The car rumbled as it crossed a road still yet to be resurfaced, which had been shattered, torn and shred like an old rag. It slid slightly coming to a stop as the ground rumbled beneath the wheels. The shockwave moved through and past Wakabayashi ward, onward toward the city. We sat for a moment; that was only the short primary wave, the real shock was still to come.
And it came, and it went, like all the rest, stronger than some, not as strong as others. Nagayama-san restarted the engine without a word and we drove on. You get used to anything.
“When nothing is left, or it looks like nothing is left, that is the moment from which you gain true strength - the strength to grow, to move on. Never, you will never be satisfied with yourself. Your soul, it is far too restless. But at those moments when you think everything is gone, when you are wrapped up in your your own self pity, all you need to do is to let go to see that you are not alone, and that you can make it. First, you have to go through that. You have to feel that emptiness, that pain, that weight, just so you know you can feel.”
We made it the rest of the way up the hill without a word. From there, we could see the rest of the city, still mostly in darkness. We got out and walked to Mizuno’s.
“It means all of that?” I said, stirring up the silence.
“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s more elegant just as it is. Keizoku wa chikara nari.”
Inside, the Izakaya was lit by lantern light, and heated by a kerosene stove. There were bottles of beer though, and he had still some gas for cooking. Better than cold emergency rations alone, that’s for sure. In the corner, the radio told stories of the separated, searching for loved ones, predicted the possibility of a meltdown a the nuclear power plants, and what the consequence might be; we didn’t know at that point that that had already happened, three times over.
We talked about training. We talked about the damage, we talked about friends we hadn’t heard from: suddenly I felt a gulf open up between us. The difference between me and the people who had lived there all their lives was that anything I had to lose had already broken back in my flat. I had no family there, not so many friends, and I knew that I would be leaving in a few months. Something like guilt - or envy perhaps - for not belonging, or for having the absence of anywhere to belong to, tore at my heart.
It was just about then that an elderly lady walked in, holding a young boy by the hand. They were locals, who still hadn’t any facility to cook, so they brought their food to Mizuno’s; more than they could really eat, and more than they could really spare, by the looks of it.
They explained to Mizuno that the little boy was from near Ishinomaki. His parents died in the tsunami whilst he was at school, meaning that they were the only family each of the other had left. His mother had been her daughter.
“We’ll stay together as long as we can, isn’t that right Kyoske-kun?” She said. Sitting on her lap, slurping his soba and soup, he nodded and intoned a deep “uun” in between gulps.
Nagayama-san and Mizuno-san, they echoed the little boy. Noriko-san, the Grandmother, gave a glance my way and bowed almost seeming to be embarrassed. I bowed and smiled, greeting them both. I was embarrassed - for what I had felt before. That they had a place to belong to wouldn’t bring his parents back, nor her children, nor any of the thousands dead.
Mizuno-san shot me a glance and topped up my glass, tapping the counter. “Hei, furrio gaijin, nommu-yo!” Nothing else to say, really.
—
Nagayama-san was right, and he still is. After the waves and the surging tides subsided, the mud and the debris piled up so high, too high to move past, or over it. We try to move on, carrying so much of it with us, when the truth is that to love, to live, is also to let go. That’s true not just for tsunamis, earthquakes and disasters, but also for the detritus each of us accumulates through the course of our everyday lives. Nobody, I think, gets out of life alive, unscathed, unmarked.
For one year now, I have been carrying with me something of the emptiness left by the Tohoku Dai Shinsai - the Great Eastern Japan Seismic disaster. But that emptiness is something I had before, too, an emptiness I think that sits with us all in some way, a weight which is for us to carry, for we have no other choice.
The way out, the only way out, is through. Pray for the dead, and remember the living.
Keizoku wa chikara nari.

Nota

  • Kendō, Iaidō and Kyūdō are traditional Japanese martial arts of the sword and bow. Sadō is the tea ceremony. Sakura is the Japanese cherry blossom.
  • “Hei, furrio gaijin, nommu\-yo” = “Hey, foreigner, drink up”, said in a friendly, cajoling way.
  • portrait_ronanmacdubhghaill
    Rónán MacDubhghaill est chercheur doctorant au CEAQ, sous la co-tutelle de l’Université de Londres. Ses recherches portent sur la mémoire collective, l’imaginaire et tous les processus de la radicalisation, en particulier soumis aux influences d’Internet. Rónán est Directeur culturel de Cacao, revue originellement publiée en chinois mandarin et en anglais, dont il gère l’édition franco-anglaise. Dans ses temps libres, il se livre passionnément à la lecture, à l’écriture, et au whiskey.
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  • Français

    Les Cahiers de l'Imaginaire sont une revue de sciences humaines fondée en 1988 par Gilbert Durand et Michel Maffesoli.

    Les thèmes qui s'y sont succédés depuis sont dans toutes les têtes. Le corps, les socialités mystérieuses, les révélations politiques, les îles et la divinité continue, l'algèbre secrète des rêves, les formes infatigables du quotidien et de la fiction, les époques et leurs magies contradictoires, la fête et l'âme composent ces pages précieuses.

    Les Cahiers européens de l'Imaginaire perpétuent ces idées : trouver les mots les moins faux pour dire les imaginaires contemporains, porter et peupler nos mythologies tout à la fois, et donner à la curiosité de chacun la langue de l'autre, pour accompagner les mouvements de vie de l'Europe.

  • Italiano

    Les Cahiers de l'Imaginaire sono una rivista di scienze umane e sociali fondata da Gilbert Durand e Michel Maffesoli nel 1988.

    I temi da allora trattati risuonano sonoramente nel nostro pensiero: il corpo, l'attrazione sociale, le rivelazioni politiche, le isole immaginarie, le divinità, l'alchimia dei sogni, le forme torrenziali del quotidiano e della finzione, le magiche contraddizioni della storia e le multiple festività che marcano il nostro tempo popolano le preziose pagine della rivista.

    Les Cahiers européens de l'Imaginaire tentano e si dilettano a trovare le parole meno false possibile per nominare gli immaginari contemporanei, a decriptare le mitologie emergenti nella vita quotidiana e a porre in relazione le lingue e le culture presenti nel vecchio continente accompagnandone le trame e il vissuto.

  • Castellano

    Les Cahiers de l'Imaginaire son una revista de ciencias humanas fundada en 1988 por Gilbert Durand y Michel Maffesoli.

    Los temas que sucedieron su fundación están en todos los pensamientos. El cuerpo, las socialidades misteriosas, las revelaciones políticas, las islas y la continua divinidad, el algebra secreta de los sueños, las formas infatigables del cotidiano y de la ficción, las épocas y sus magias contradictorias, la fiesta y el alma, componen sus preciadas paginas.

    Les Cahiers européens de l'Imaginaire perpetúan esas ideas: encontrar las más adecuada de las palabras para expresar los imaginarios contemporáneos, al mismo tiempo que llevar y poblar nuestras mitologías, y dar a la curiosidad de cada uno de nosotros la lengua del otro, acompañando así los movimientos de vida en Europa.

  • English

    Les Cahiers de l'imaginaire is a social science review, founded in 1988 by Gilbert Durand and Michel Maffesoli.

    It explores the varied meanings within and beyond the body, mysterious social systems, political revelations, the isolated and continuous divinities. The secret algebra of dreams, the inexhaustible forms of the mundane and the fictitious, the ages and their contradictory magic, the festival and the soul are the stuff that fill its precious pages.

    Les Cahiers européens de l'Imaginaire perpetuates these ideas: finding the least false words to describe the contemporary imagination, sustaining and populating our mythologies, sharing our respective languages with each-other, in concert with the movements of the living Europe.

  • Portuguès

    Les Cahiers de l'Imaginaire é uma revista de ciências humanas fundada em 1988 por Gilbert Durand e Michel Maffesoli.

    Desde sua fundação, são abordados temas de diversos campos do pensamento. O corpo, as relações sociais misteriosas, as revelações políticas, as divindades isoladas e contínuas, a álgebra secreta dos sonhos, as incansáveis formas do quotidiano e da ficção, as diversas épocas e respectivas magias contraditórias, a festa e a alma fazem parte de suas preciosas páginas.

    Les Cahiers européens de l'Imaginaire perpetuam tais idéias: encontrar as melhores palavras para expressar os imaginários contemporâneos, ao mesmo tempo em que suporta e povoa nossas mitologias, e oferece à curiosidade de cada um a palavra do outro para acompanhar, assim, os movimentos de vida da Europa.

  • Deutsch

    Les Cahiers de l'Imaginaire ist eine sozialwissenschaftliche Revue, gegründet 1988 von Gilbert Durand und Michel Maffesoli.

    Sie adressiert Themen, die sich in allen Köpfen wiederfinden. Der Körper, mysteriöse soziale Systeme, politische Enthüllungen, isolierte und kontinuierliche Göttlichkeit, die geheime Algebra der Träume, die unerschöpflichen Formen des Alltäglichen und des Fiktiven, die verschiedenen Zeitalter und ihre widerspruchsvolle Magie, das Fest und die Seele füllen ihre wertvollen Seiten.

    Les Cahiers européens de l'Imaginaire führen diese Ideen fort: die treffendsten Worte zu finden, um das zeitgenössisch Imaginäre zu beschreiben, unsere Mythologien gleichzeitig zu erhalten und zu nähren, und unsere verschiedenen Sprachen miteinander zu teilen, im Gleichschritt mit dem Puls des europäischen Lebens.

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