6.42am. April 28th 2017. Room 419. Miyajima Seaside Hotel, Miyajima Island, Japan.
Vermillion is the bright orange-red colour of the Torii gate to a Shinto Shrine in Japan... Yesterday we visited Fushimi Inari-Taisha. So many people. Throngs of tourists pushing along. Cameras and phones everywhere. Seems disrespectful. Isn't this somewhere that is supposed to revere the gods and the dead. Too many people. Too much noise. Too many sights, smells and sounds. Can't take it all in. Just wan to be. Just want to take it all in but I can't because of all the distractions. People are too close. They get in the way. They stop suddenly to take a photo and hold up the procession behind me, causing people to bump and push. Aaagghhh! Too much. Just STOP!!! I AM VERMILLION We walk through the torii tunnel, Each a purchase of the dead, I notice the hush. And slow down regardless. Absorb the colour around me. Notice how it refracts the light. I AM VERMILLION. Notice the soles of my feet. Focus on each step. I AM VERMILLION. Take a deep breath. Breath in vermillion shade. Dark leaves and stone shrines, What is outside, Where people run to look. Cobwebs overhead, Tangles of leaves and seeds dangling, Green mould on the arches, Beautiful contrast I AM VERMILLION I become part of the humming, thrumming mass, Carried along. Briefly I panic. What if I can't get out?! Need to breathe. Have to escape. Look to the side, Seeking a gap to slip through, Away from the throng. Hah! That doesn't look big enough. What if I get stuck?! I breathe. Focus on the soles of my feet in the dust. Coolness of shade on my skin. I AM VERMILLION. Later,I take myself to one side, away from the procession. I feel the warmth of the sun on my face, in contrast to the shade before. Is reverence silence? Or is reverence the humming throbbing sounds of human life? Of life? I close my eyes and see the glow of the sun behind my eyelids. I hear the cackle of laughter. The drone of many languages all at once. I hear footsteps crunching on pebbles. I hear birds cawing overhead. I hear the breeze in the trees. I feel my stillness as all this goes by me. Surrounds me like a river of humanness. Of humanity. Of life. Is this reverence? To stand in stillness, separate and apart from it. Like a boulder in the stream that rushes around it.
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7.23am. April 27th 2017. Room 902, New Hankyu Hotel, Kyoto, Japan.
Hello Blue Toes Hello Blue Toes’ At the end of throbbing feet, Swollen, aching, pulsing feet. Sore soles Heels that scream SIT DOWN!! STOP WALKING! Give me a break Take a load off Puffy and swollen from ankle to toe, I prod. Feel marshmallow squishiness Where once, There was bone and muscle and sinew Lines drawn from from toe knuckle to joint to ankle Now puffy, squishy, fluffy flesh Pulsing, throbbing and tingly Oh my poor feet that end in Blue Toes What shall I do with you? Can I ask you to carry me a while longer? Down foreign streets, Toward monuments and sights of attraction and interest, What shall I do with you when you scream, NO I CAN’T GO ON! What if I stretch you? Release you. Bend you. Twist you. Will that release your cells? Wring them out? Return to new? What if I raise you? Above my head, Pillow under hips, Rest you gently against fine wallpaper Prop you up. Let you rest. Point Blue Toes back Towards knee and chin Then towards ceiling Like arrows, This way! What if I bend you? Twist you? Flex and twirl you? Clockwise slowly, Stiff, Like an old grandfather clock. How different the world looks, From this vantage point, Blue toes above my head, Fall forward to meet me, While hip and fascia groan, Release and let me go. What about now? My poor feet with Blue Toes Will you go on? The next day, Across land, track and water, Oh alright! I feel a bit better, But I’m still a bit squishy! 6.35am. April 25th 2017. New Hankyu Hotel, Kyoto, Japan.
I am awake early. Woke around 5.30am. Wanted silence, early morning light and what? Meditation? Contemplation? But quietly as I should not wake Neil who is heavily breathing and sleeping in the bed nearby. I created a little corner of light at the table. Pulled up the dark blind a crack to let the light in. Just enough. I made tea. Tea that is foreign and familiar at the same time. No milk, strange smell. I relished the porcelain cup with its indigo paint around it and the wooden saucer, surprisingly light beneath it. I made a ceremony of it. Used the senses to center and ground me in this foreign room, in a foreign land. I sat in the chair and let its snugness hold my hips and back. Held, contained and a bit squished. With both hands on the saucer, as the cup rim is too hot, I held the cup up to my nose. I can smell the sweet, sour, sour, nutty, musty aroma. I can feel the heat and steam on the end of my nose and across my lip and cheeks. I breathe in deeply, let the swirls of steam run over my face, head, neck and shoulders. They cue me to drop me shoulders from their permanent hunch so I lift and roll them back. A shiver runs over the flesh and hairs on my arms. Rolls over them. I linger in the anticipation of taste. Anticipating the heat of the water may be too much. I close my eyes. I sip. Heat. Wet. Sour, bitter, tangy. The middle sides of my tongue stand to attention 'What is that?! Ooooh!". I salivate in anticipation of another sip. I breathe, I shiver, I sip. This time, now the liquid has cooled a little, I hold it in my mouth, swish it around a little. Too self-conscious to slurp or gargle. I hold the flavours. Picking out the top notes, middle notes and bottom notes. My brain analysing and categorising. "What is that?" Finally I swallow and the warmth spreads across my body, nourishing me. I breathe. I notice it in my body. My chest, my belly, my nose. I notice the sounds. The silence. Neil's hushed, whistling breath. The white noise of the hotel. 'What is that?" The air vent? The unexpectedly low hushed noise of the traffic outside, below, across. And then back to silence. Back to my thoughts of the day before. The people at home, left behind. I bring my focus and attention back to my breath. Shallow. Now deepen. The slight coolness on my skin. The aroma. The feel of the cup in my hands. Cupped at my belly. Aaahh! I shift. I am aware of the swollen heaviness and ache of my feet. They throb. I shift them. Point my toes back and forth, up and down. Tightness relieved by the opposite movement. Throbbing, humming, sweaty heat. I look down at my bright blue toenails. A shade carefully chosen days before my journey. Mid blue, royal blue, ocean and planetary blue, punk, eccentric, Van Gogh's night sky blue. And I drift... Back to the tea. Warmth. Aroma. Weight in my hand. Nourishment. "I am a gift to you. Think of me as a personal navigation system to deeply listen to me and hear the possibilities of what can unfold within you, including pain and beauty. I am the all inclusive map you have been yearning for, a free GPS system to your innermost longing. I am not found in one neat package. I am filled with the wonder and the limitations of all that it means to be an alive human being." Snowber (2016 p.3) |
Helen Kennett-Bacon.Originally from South Yorkshire in England, I've lived with my husband Neil in Kitsilano, Vancouver for 10 years. We are fur-parents to our French bulldog Dave, I am a Registered Psychiatric Nurse specialising in ADHD. Archives
July 2017
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