Every spring about this time, the azaleas in our yard and the park nearby burst into bloom. The riot of rose, white, pink and magenta flowers is truly jaw dropping. Of course, it lasts but a few weeks, and then the petals turn brown, fall and the moment is gone.
I can't help but be reminded of a commentary I heard many years ago on NPR by a fellow who goes by T.R. Reid. He was always one of my favorites on Morning Edition. When I first heard him, Reid was the Tokyo bureau chief for the Washington Post. He then moved to Europe to head the Post's London bureau. He later took the job of chief of the Washington Post's Rocky Mountain bureau in Denver. As far as I know, he's no longer is a commentator for NPR, and I'm not quite sure what he's up to at the moment.
His absolute best commentaries, however, were his dispatches from Tokyo. These tended to be modest comments about random oddities of life and culture in Japan. Reid could not hide his love and enthusiasm for the Japanese and their culture, yet he never lost an appreciation for his native land. Reid had studied East Asian History and Philosophy as an undergraduate. He is fluent in Japanese, and served as a columnist for the Japanese newsweekly Shukan Shincho when he lived in Tokyo. He has written a number of books in English and Japanese. Perhaps his best known book is Confucius Lives Next Door: What Living in the East Teaches Us About Living in the West.
I have an amazingly clear memory of Reid's commentary on "mi," the Japanese word meaning "to look at" or "view." The better translation is probably "mindful viewing." "Mi" is taking time out to simply view and appreciate the beauty of nature around you.
There are two annual festivals in which the practice of "mi" plays a major role. One is hana-mi, or flower viewing, and it refers almost exclusively to viewing cherry blossoms. In the spring, the Japanese flock to cherry orchards to view the blossoms. The cherry trees bloom usually from the end of March through April in a kind of wave starting in southern Kyushu and working its way northeast, sort of the opposite of fall foliage in the Eastern US. Daily news reports keep the populace up to date on the best places to enjoy hanami.
The second is Tsuki-mi, or moon viewing. In the fall, the Japanese celebrate O-tsukimi dedicated to celebrating the full harvest moon, considered to be the brightest and the largest of the full moons. According to Reid, there are popular locations such as hilltops or riverbanks from which to watch the moon rise, and people will travel for miles to find these ideal spots.
This "mindful viewing" is meant to evoke a complex set of emotions. On the one hand, there is there is the pure delight taken in the splendor of the cherry blossom array or the stunningly clear immense harvest moon. But the deep appreciation of the flowers or the moon is mixed with a sense of melancholy at their all-too-brief appearance.
Thus, the real moment of hanami is not so much gazing at the cherry blossoms but watching with a tinge of sadness as they fall and drift earthward. It's a pointed reminder that, as sweet as it is, all life must come to an end. Likewise, the full moon is only a temporary phase of a constantly waxing and waning moon and reminds us of the vicissitudes of life, the joy and sorrow, parting and reunion. One moment we are laughing with loved ones; the next moment they are gone.
According to what I've read, this elegant blend of emotions is best kept in balance by total inebriation. And so every year – at least at hanami – hundreds of thousands of Japanese of all ages gather beneath the pink cherry blooms, sing karaoke, dance and drink until they can no longer stand.
Moon viewing in the fall is a bit more sedate apparently and, because the moon is a perfect circle, if only for a brief moment, it symbolizes reunion. Indeed, as the Chinese say, "when the moon is full, humankind is one." So, all family members try to get together regardless of the distance for the harvest moon.
The azalea blooms in our front yard are now emerging earlier this year than usual due the warm March. Soon they will blossom into a great crescendo of color. But, even as they peak, the azaleas will begin to turn brown and soon enough the flowers will be no more. Perhaps, if they were not so temporary, we wouldn't appreciate any of it. I think it's time to break out the Saki.
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