No matter the task, I always start with pen and paper.
While I acknowledge the convenience of digital tools, my first step is always to hold a pen.
Whether preparing a presentation or drafting a proposal, it begins with a notebook.


Watching lines and letters take shape on the page sparks a cascade of ideas.
Even if the notes are messy and disorganized, there’s something about starting with paper that feels more natural and liberating.
Perhaps it’s my contrarian nature, resisting constraints and structure.
Or maybe it’s simpler: I love stationery.
Holding a new pen or notebook fills me with excitement, as if the act of gathering tools itself fuels my creative energy.


Recent studies have supported this affinity for handwriting.
Research by Dr. Pam Mueller of Princeton University and Dr. Daniel Oppenheimer of UCLA found that students who took notes by hand understood and remembered information more deeply than those who typed.


Handwriting is not just a way to record—it places demands on the brain, promoting deeper understanding and creative thought.



One of handwriting’s greatest appeals is its freedom. On a computer, you’re bound by fonts and formats.
On paper, anything goes.
Lines can stray, letters can wobble—it doesn’t matter.
Paper is a space where thoughts flow unimpeded, and the imperfections themselves spark creativity.
Even the blank spaces speak, carrying a richness that no digital screen could replicate.



A recent National Geographic article from October 2024, The Science of Handwriting, delves into how handwriting activates the brain and enhances memory.
If you’re curious, it’s worth reading.


The emotional power of handwriting is another fascinating aspect. According to research by NTT Data Institute, handwritten communication conveys a sense of “time and care” to the recipient.
This effort leaves a positive impression, allowing the reader to connect deeply with the writer.
Every stroke of the pen, every subtle imperfection, carries the writer’s emotion.
In an increasingly digital world, handwriting’s warmth shines even brighter.


This is why we incorporate handwriting into our seminars.
Writing on traditional washi paper goes beyond learning—it’s an experience.


The theme of a seminar I recently attended was “Sossen Suihan（率先垂範）”


Grinding ink, feeling the brush glide across the washi, and watching the ink seep into the paper—each step invites a deeper connection with the words.
The process transforms the act of writing into an exploration of the spirit behind the text.
Handwriting is more than just a tool for recording.
It’s a way to rediscover our minds, emotions, and connections with others.
The next time you open a notebook, consider the warmth and potential of handwriting.


It might just be the beginning of a quiet revolution at the tip of your pen.


So, let’s take the first step.
On your way home, stop by a stationery store and pick out a pen and notebook.


From that moment, your revolution begins.

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“Redefining Travel in Japan”

Rather than offering conventional sightseeing trips, we propose a new concept of travel enriched with values that weave together the cultural threads of Japan from a liberal arts perspective. This redefinition centers on “Takuryo” and “Keiryo,” concepts that transcend traditional notions of travel and tourism.

What is “Takuryo（拓旅）”?

A journey to “open up places.”
Unlike conventional travel that treats famous landmarks as isolated “points” to visit, “Takuryo” delves into the layers of background, history, spirituality, and cultural essence that define a place. For instance, when exploring Mount Fuji, a “Takuryo” journey does not begin by heading directly to a location with a clear view of the mountain.

Instead, it starts at the base of Mount Kinpu, a sacred peak to the north, offering a distant view of Mount Fuji. This approach is rooted in ancient traditions—over 1,200 years ago, when Mount Fuji was an active volcano, people worshiped it from afar at sites like Mount Kinpu.

By gradually connecting the historical, spiritual, and cultural threads of Mount Fuji, the journey culminates in an intimate experience within the mountain’s embrace. This approach transforms a visit to Mount Fuji into a profound encounter, offering depth far beyond the superficiality of conventional sightseeing.

What is “Keiryo（啓旅）”?

A journey to “seek out people” and “enlighten oneself.”
While “Takuryo” focuses on the concept of “places,” “Keiryo” centers on the narratives of individuals, such as historical figures, and the connections they forged throughout their lives.

Tourist destinations are often centered on either “places” or “people.” “Keiryo” reimagines journeys by focusing on the latter, creating a richer narrative around the lives and legacies of historical figures.

For example, if the Sengoku-period leader Takeda Shingen is the focus, conventional sightseeing might include visits to Takeda Shrine, his grave at Erin-ji Temple, or even the five Zen temples of Kofu for those more deeply interested.

A “Keiryo” journey, however, goes deeper, respecting Takeda Shingen’s spiritual foundations and connections. His reverence for Yasutaka Yasuda of the Kai Genji clan, his ties to Onjoji Temple in Shiga Prefecture, and his devotions to Suwa in Nagano Prefecture are threads that must not be overlooked. To truly honor Takeda Shingen’s legacy, the journey must organically connect various locations beyond Yamanashi Prefecture.

The Interplay of “Takuryo” and “Keiryo”

“Takuryo” and “Keiryo” are not distinctly separate concepts but intricately intertwined, enhancing the overall quality of the journey. Together, they represent a groundbreaking approach to travel—a deeply interconnected exploration of Japan’s essence that transcends the conventional boundaries of tourism.

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Tarui-no-Izumi (Izumi, Tarui Town, Fuwa District, Gifu Prefecture)

Flowing ceaselessly through the ages, from the capital Kyoto to the eastern provinces, and back again to Kyoto.

There is a spring that has long soothed and rejuvenated travelers.

Take a moment to sit. Breathe.

Here, many have set their pens to paper.

Though the spring I once saw
remains unchanged,
the reflection it holds
has grown old with time.
– Fujiwara Takaaki (11th century)

Let not your heart
be shallow; for the jeweled
curtains of Izumi,
its waters may yet dampen
even your sleeves.
– Ichijo Kaneyoshi (15th century)

Green onions washed—
gleaming white in the chill,
winter’s sharpness.
– Matsuo Basho (17th century)

On rainy days, it served as a sheltering umbrella;
on sunny days, its great tree offered shade, welcoming travelers.
Sadly, the great zelkova tree fell in a typhoon in 2015.
And yet, the spring has not run dry.

Though I lack the gift of poetry, I too have tried my hand:

The great zelkova—
though it has decayed,
autumn’s scattered threads
mend themselves by
Tarui-no-Izumi’s eternal spring.

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The other day, I attended a performance by Kensaku Sato, who also serves as an instructor at Wa no Mori.
The venue was the dojo “Koreirokan” in Togakushi.

It had been a long time since I last attended a live performance.。
As someone who generally isn’t fond of ballet or musicals, this was my first experience watching ballet.
(To be honest, I had never really liked it—my apologies.)
Naturally, I have no deep knowledge of ballet, so I can only offer impressions based purely on my emotions.

The performance began slowly, with a warm-up, and then transitioned into the main act.
And then, the stage truly came alive.

Ah.
Leaping high before my eyes, then retreating with steps swift as the wind,
the figure of Haruo Futayama was the very embodiment of someone destined for greatness.
He was the Usain Bolt of running,
the Lionel Messi of reaching the goal.

Equally mesmerizing were Mimosa Koike, Fumiko Takase, and Maho Higashi, who displayed astonishing control over their bodies.
Their mastery made me reflect on one of Wa no Mori’s seminar themes:
“When the mind changes, the body changes; when the body changes, the mind changes.”
I found myself wanting to speak with these performers about their journey to achieving such complete mastery of their physical forms.

And then, a phrase came to mind:
“Making the most of what you’re born with.”
This thought, written in simple hiragana in my mind, seemed to branch into two interpretations:
“活かしきる” (fully utilizing one’s abilities)
and “生かしきる” (fully embracing one’s nature).

As an ordinary person, I feel I belong to the former category:
using my modest abilities just to make a living, struggling as I go.

But “fully embracing” feels like the essence of those chosen for their calling.
It is a natural state of being, where one sits simply for the sake of sitting, as effortlessly as breathing.

But “fully embracing” feels like the essence of those chosen for their calling.
It is a natural state of being, where one sits simply for the sake of sitting, as effortlessly as breathing.

To be born in a region blessed with excellent ballet instructors.
To have one’s natural gifts dynamically nurtured and connected by the surrounding environment.

These performers truly seemed chosen for their path.
Just like Sato-san and his taiko drumming.
(Of course, I’m sure their accomplishments are also backed by extraordinary effort.)

The thunderous rhythm of the taiko drums swelled, bringing the performance to a climactic finale, leaving the audience deeply moved.。

This profound sense of awe can only be fully appreciated by witnessing it live.
Though the current social circumstances may not always allow such experiences,
I urge everyone to attend in person, taking all possible safety measures, to truly feel the power of this art.

The Drum of the Lotus Sutra
In Nichiren Buddhism, the phrase “The Drum of the Lotus Sutra” is used to describe the gradual and steady improvement of circumstances.
Kensaku Sato’s taiko drumming has a remarkable ability to uplift spirits and guide people toward a brighter, more positive place.
The essence of that atmosphere can only be truly appreciated in a live performance.

That’s all for this time.

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A program teaching haiku poetry drifts from the car radio.
Apparently, it’s about the works of the “Shōmon Jittetsu” (Ten Disciples of Bashō)*.
My knowledge of haiku is limited to its 5-7-5 structure and the inclusion of seasonal words.
Humbled by my ignorance, I look up “haiku” in the dictionary.

*Shōmon Jittetsu: A term referring to the ten most outstanding disciples of Matsuo Bashō.

Quoting the Dictionary (Kōjien)

Haiku: hai-ku 【俳句】
①A witty or satirical poem.
②A short poem composed in a fixed 5-7-5 syllable structure.
Derived from the opening verse of linked-verse poetry (renga), it traditionally incorporates seasonal themes and cutting words (kireji).
The term became widespread during the Meiji Period following Masaoka Shiki’s reform movement, but it also refers to pre-Edo hokku.
Together with tanka, it forms one of Japan’s two streams of short-form poetry. While traditional haiku adhere to form and seasonal themes, some modern haiku reject these conventions.

A Parody and a Haiku Digression
Speaking of Bashō, I recall reading Chihayafuru Oku no Hosomichi by Nobuhiko Kobayashi long ago.
While parodies may not suit everyone, I found it entertaining. Worth a read if you’re curious.

Back to Haiku

Let’s turn our attention to Ozaki Hōsai (1885–1926), a poet known for his free-style haiku. Here are a few of his works:

　　Lying down, writing a letter – the chicken watches.

　　Dog, wagging its tail like it’ll snap right off.

　　A shop of booze and smokes, now a familiar place.

　　Slapping a midday mosquito, reading the old paper.

　　No container – I receive with my bare hands.

　　

　　ねそべつて書いて居る手紙を鶏に覗かれる

　　犬よちぎれるほど尾をふつてくれる

　　酒もうる煙草もうる店となじみになつた

　　昼の蚊たたいて古新聞よんで　

　　入れものが無い両手で受ける

Lonely, for no particular reason.
Hōsai spent his final days on Shōdoshima, drawn to the sea. Nature never rejected him. It seems he passed away to the sound of waves, embraced by the sea.

　　A small window with a glimpse of the sea.
　　Smoke rises from behind the spring mountain.

　　海が少し見える小さい窓一つもつ
　　春の山のうしろから烟が出だした

Another Poet: Taneda Santōka
Another contemporary poet with the same mentor, Taneda Santōka (1882–1940), also left behind notable works:

　　I press on, yet blue mountains press on endlessly.

　　This journey, a journey with no end – cicadas cry.

　　Exhausted heart; mountains, sea – too beautiful.

　　Sleepless night, trimming my nails.

　　A straight road, lonely.

　　分け入つても分け入つても青い山

　　この旅、果もない旅のつくつくぼうし

　　こころつかれて山が海がうつくしすぎる

　　どうしてもねむれないよるの爪を切る

　　まつすぐな道でさみしい

Browsing through Santōka’s journals on Aozora Bunko, I stumbled upon a treasure. Having only read his poetry collections, the diary offered a fresh perspective. Its earnestness, gravity, and humor absorbed me into the night. Here are a few excerpts:

Morning Drink and Morning Bath:
Morning sake tastes exquisite – every drop, every sip permeates my entire being.
Morning bath, morning sake, radiant skies. I feel keenly my indolence and the joy of solitude.

・朝酒と朝湯の礼賛
『朝酒はほんたうにうまい、一滴一杯が五臓六腑にしみわたるやうである。』

『朝湯朝酒、うらゝかな。ナマケモノであることをひし／＼感じる。一人であることのよろしさ。』

Struggles with Alcohol:
At drinking gatherings, I’m acutely aware of my contradictions, my fractured self.
A battle between the me that wants to get drunk and the me resisting intoxication – a clash of fire and water, a war of god and devil in the depths of my belly.
In the end, my body succumbs, my soul weeps, and I sink into a restless nightmare.

・酒に飲まれる苦悩
～私は酒席に於て最も強く自己の矛盾を意識する、自我の分裂、内部の破綻をまざまざと見せつけられる。
酔いたいと思う私と酔うまいとする私とが、火と水とが叫ぶように、また神と悪魔とが戦うように、
私の腹のどん底で噛み合い押し合い啀いがみ合うている。
そして最後には、私の肉は虐げられ私の魂は泣き濡れて、遣瀬ない悪夢に沈んでしまうのである。～

Even when he resolves to stop, he ends up drunk. Why can’t life be lived with such ease?

The Fatigue of Mendicancy:
I grew weary. Weary of walking, yes, but more so of the contradictions of mendicancy.
Hiding behind a priest’s robe, reciting fake sutras, employing the art of begging without the worthiness to receive offerings.

・行乞　偽僧侶？の托鉢生活に疲弊して
『私は労れた。歩くことにも労れたが、それよりも行乞の矛盾を繰り返すことに労れた。
袈裟のかげに隠れる、嘘の経文を読む、貰いの技巧を弄する、――応供の資格なくして供養を受ける苦脳には堪えきれなくなったのである。』

On Writing Haiku:
Do not compose without emotion. A true haiku can be clumsy, but a false one, no matter how skillful, is worthless.

・俳句作りに関する１節
『感動なくして制作するなかれ。ホントウの句は下手でもよろしいが、ウソの句は上手でも駄目。
多作寡作は素質により、その場その時の事情により、慣習によるでせう。句作より前に詩精神の涵養が大切。』

Santōka’s life was an extraordinary journey, a relentless quest for haiku.

On Death:
My wishes are but two. Just two.
One is to create haiku that are truly my own.
The other is to achieve a peaceful death – to pass away without prolonged suffering, without becoming a burden to others, and to meet a joyous end.
I believe I shall die suddenly, from a heart attack or a stroke.

・死について
『私の念願は二つ。ただ二つある。ほんとうの自分の句を作りあげることがその一つ。
そして他の一つはころり往生である。病んでも長く苦しまないで、あれこれと厄介をかけないで、めでたい死を遂げたいのである。
――私は心臓麻痺か脳溢血で無造作に往生すると信じている。』

Clumsy in Life, Yet Resolute in Spirit

Though clumsy and unable to navigate life smoothly, he spent his days facing himself, wandering and struggling, until his life came to an end.
True to his wish, he passed away peacefully from a stroke, a sudden and quiet departure.

His entire life was an intense and extraordinary journey in pursuit of haiku.

　　
　　Under the exposure of nature, the wind pierces this fragile body (Bashō).　　

　　野ざらしを心に風のしむ身哉　（芭蕉）

Both Hōsai and Santōka were endearing yet flawed men, alcoholics who struggled with the practicalities of life.
Their purity made them ill-suited for economic endeavors, leaving their families exasperated while others saw them as lovable figures.
Well, life isn’t easy for anyone.

Inspired by Haiku
Having written this far, I realize I’ve never composed a haiku myself, but I feel like giving it a try.
Though I can’t match the intensity of those who poured their souls into their work, perhaps I can play with ideas for fun.
No rules, no structure – just free-form creations.

　　

　　Such a fine moon – I sleep alone beneath its light (Hōsai).　　

　　こんなよい月を一人で見て寝る　（放哉）

　　

　　Even for one alone, the moon still shines (Inspired by Hōsai).　　

　　独りにも照らす月ある　（放哉に和して）

　　

　　Coughing, alone (Hōsai).

　　せきをしてもひとり　（放哉）

　　

　　A coughing fit – but no one to mind (Inspired by Hōsai).　　

　　せきこんで気兼ねなきひとり　（放哉に和して）

（On the Death of a Pet）

　　A dog passes peacefully – I see it off.

　　コロリ往生する犬見送る

　　

　　Sutras read for the dog at a Zen temple.

　　禅寺で経読まれる犬

　　

　　A grave marker bears its name in katakana.　　

　　卒塔婆にもカタカナの名

　　

　　Rebirth awaits – a dog’s story in film.　　

　　生まれ変わりたどり着く犬の映画あり

　　

　　In the dog’s domain, buried bones – and now tomatoes planted.　　

　　骨うまる犬の領地にトマト植え

　　

　　Absentmindedly, I try howling myself.

　　うっかり遠吠えをまねてみる

（During the Stay-Home Era）

　　One soliloquy piled upon another.

　　ひとりごとにひとりごとかぶせる

　　

　　The long afternoons of pandemic holidays.

　　ころなの休日長い午後をしる

　　

　　Without people gathering, connections and days cannot begin.

　　人、あつまらないとはじまらない縁、日

Composing haiku turns out to be surprisingly fun. Immersed in my self-indulgence, I find it hard to stop.
Perhaps it’s fine to simply express what comes to mind freely. (Or is that wrong?)

During these stay-home times, wouldn’t it be wonderful to enjoy haiku with your family?
A family haiku gathering could brighten long afternoons at home.

Composing haiku turns out to be surprisingly fun. Immersed in my self-indulgence, I find it hard to stop.
Perhaps it’s fine to simply express what comes to mind freely. (Or is that wrong?)

During these stay-home times, wouldn’t it be wonderful to enjoy haiku with your family?
A family haiku gathering could brighten long afternoons at home.

A Final Reflection: Treasuring Things

Lastly, let me share a complete excerpt from Santōka’s essay The Heart that Respects Things on Aozora Bunko.
It stands as proof of his sincere wish to live simply and authentically:

The heart that treasures things nurtures life, fostering a world shared with the divine, and guiding us toward unity with the Buddha.

Santōka’s words and life remain a testament to his pure and sensitive approach to existenceach to existence.

———————————————————————————————————–
The Heart That Treasures Things
By Taneda Santōka

The heart that treasures things is the fertile ground that nurtures and sustains life.
It naturally leads us to a world shared with the divine, guiding us toward the realm where we merge with the Buddha.

Some years ago, while on a begging pilgrimage through the sacred sites of Shikoku, I unexpectedly became a traveling companion to an old pilgrim named H.
He was a seasoned man of hardship, a so-called “professional pilgrim” (as opposed to a pilgrim driven by pure faith). Yet, he carried himself with dignity, both in body and spirit.
He never spoke of the circumstances that had brought him to this life, nor did I pry.
Having undertaken the pilgrimage several times, he was well-versed in Shikoku’s geography and customs.
From how much one might receive when begging, to the pace of the journey, to the quality of lodgings—he taught me many things.

Each day, we would walk, one following the other.
Each night, we stayed at the same inn, shared meals, and slept side by side, growing a bond of familiarity.
One day, as we followed the route from Awa to Tosa and into Iyo, we sat on a roadside rock to rest.
Taking out our tobacco pouches, we engaged in casual conversation, momentarily forgetting the fatigue of our journey.

I noticed H. striking matches repeatedly—one, two, five, six matches for a single smoke.

“Quite a lot of matches you’re using,” I remarked.

“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve been given so many matches, they pile up endlessly. I can’t sell them for much, so I’m just using them up like this.”

Hearing this, I felt an uncomfortable pang.

It was clear that his faith was insincere, and I realized he was not worthy of being a companion on this journey.
A surge of disdain and frustration rose within me, but I suppressed it and stayed silent.
After all, he was not the type to listen to criticism, and I lacked the confidence to lecture him.

For several more days, I traveled with him, burdened by an uneasy feeling.
Eventually, I could no longer bear it and subtly distanced myself from him.

I wonder what became of him after that. Is he still alive, or has he passed away?
I often think of him and pray for his happiness. Yet, unless he repents, I cannot help but doubt the fortune of his end.

To treasure a single matchstick is to appreciate the blessings of the sun.
Those who understand the preciousness of sunlight cannot treat even a single matchstick carelessly.

A Modern Household

Mrs. S was an intellectual woman. She was skilled in social settings and adequate at household management.
At first glance, she seemed like a perfect lady, but alas, she had not experienced the baptism of poverty.

One evening, I witnessed a shocking sight in her home.
The maid, engaged in some task, had left the water tap running.
Water flowed endlessly, wastefully, as Mrs. S sat there, indifferent.

The ignorance of the maid could be pitied, but the arrogance of the mistress was infuriating.
The sanctity of water, its preciousness, its irreplacable value… I, timid as I was, said nothing and quietly withdrew.

She, too, was guilty of sacrilege.
She knew the price of things but not their true worth.
She didn’t understand that even a large diamond could be worthless compared to a single rice ball in certain circumstances.

On the Value of Things

From the perspective of the greater universe, all is unchanging—neither increasing nor decreasing, neither created nor destroyed. There is no waste, no frugality, no usefulness, nor futility.

But as human beings, wastefulness is inexcusable. In human society, we must eliminate waste.
We must honor the value of things and respect the labor that produces them.
This applies in all times and circumstances, regardless of status or wealth.

To savor the inherent worth of things is to truly live.
Where the innate virtues of things are brought forth, there lies the manifestation of Buddha-nature.

To elevate the virtues of things—that is the duty of humanity.

In reflecting on my experiences, I realize my words may have been harsh toward both Mr. H and Mrs. S.
But all those admonitions were ultimately meant for myself, to remind me of the path I must follow.
———————————————————————————————————————-

(Hiroshima Teiyu, September 1938)

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We live in an age where goods and services are overflowing at an accelerating pace.
To accept this abundance, I have continually emptied myself, creating space for these goods and services to fill every crevice.
I thought they would keep coming endlessly, an inexhaustible supply granted to me forever.

Then, an unknown epidemic struck.
Its influence overwhelmed the world in ways unlike anything before.
And today, the ordinary days we took for granted are no more.



“Make an uninteresting world interesting; the key lies in your heart.”
「おもしろきこともなき世をおもしろく　すみなすものは心なりけり」



Though it may seem abrupt, this is the theme of today’s reflection.
As you may know, this is the famous farewell poem of Takasugi Shinsaku (or so it is said).
He raced through his short life with an overwhelming intensity.
He inherited the fiery spirit of his mentor, Shoin Yoshida, and was described as being like thunder and storms.
Interpretations of his farewell verse vary, but here’s how I understand it:

There’s joy to be found in anything.
Even when plagued by illness or faced with hardship, if you can shape your heart properly,
you can live through the world with a sense of joy.

This phrase offers profound insight into how people suffering from a loss of freedom today can reshape their mindset.
Though the epidemic is a hateful scourge that has claimed many lives, it also provides a chance to reflect on oneself.
A chance to revisit the empty spaces within ourselves.

From merely receiving goods and services to cultivating a mindset that finds joy in all things.

For those providing goods and services, this might also be a great opportunity to step away from a profit-first mindset.

By the way, I believe smallpox also had a significant influence on Shinsaku’s life, alongside Shoin’s mentorship.
Thanks to vaccines, smallpox is no longer a fatal disease today, but in his time, it was a terrifying epidemic with a mortality rate of up to 70%.
Around the age of 10, Shinsaku contracted smallpox and miraculously survived.
This brush with life and death must have profoundly shaped his view of life, forging a new and powerful perspective.
The rest of his life, as many know, was extraordinary.

Uncompromising, with a broad vision, always flexible and open to updates.
Using clan funds for playful indulgences, yet still endearing.
Once he made a decision, he acted swiftly and thoroughly.
A lifetime of spring, summer, autumn, and winter, all within less than 30 years.

He made the most of life in an uninteresting world, living with boundless interest and joy.

The impact of the COVID-19 pandemic has far exceeded our expectations at the start of the year.
Even the postponed Olympics may not take place.
To navigate such times, we must use our present moments meaningfully.
Let us learn from the spirit of Shinsaku Takasugi.

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A stone monument catches your eye during a journey.
I have no experience in calligraphy, let alone the ability to read ancient documents.
The weathered characters blend into the scenery and pass by unnoticed.

The other day, I had the opportunity to observe the process of making a rubbing.
It was my first time witnessing this art.

Water is applied, and a sheet of Xuan paper is placed over the surface.
Even with the same application of water, the drying process differs between the upper and lower sections.
Over time, water drips down from the lower part of the paper.
The work progresses, carefully calculated step by step.

The technique of rubbings reveals the past.

It restores the calligraphy as an art form.
It preserves history that has been buried and forgotten.
It exists simply as a piece of work created through the rubbing process.

The texture of Xuan paper, combined with the rhythm of the artist’s brush, allows the ink to spread gracefully.
From the raised white characters, one can almost hear music.
The rubbing transforms into a standalone piece, independent of the original monument.

As I gazed upon it, I found myself wanting to know more about its content.

That curiosity led me to confront a tragic piece of history.
As I delved into the background, waves of anger and helplessness surged within me.
It’s always the citizens who bear the sacrifices, caught in the maelstrom of nations and politics.

Since this is a private monument, I will refrain from delving further and end my reflections here.

Regardless, it was a meaningful day that made me realize the potential of rubbings.

Thank you, Mr. Kusuo Hino, for the experience.

---

：Nanyu HINO　
Born in 1961 in Yamagata Prefecture, Japan.
Specializes in the study of the Four Treasures of the Study (brush, ink, paper, and inkstone) and rubbings.
Serves as a part-time lecturer at Daito Bunka University and Kokugakuin University.
Representative of the Japan Rubbing Association.

Takes an interdisciplinary approach to research and investigations, focusing on the integration and parallel study of brushes, ink, inkstones, paper, and rubbings.

A member of the Washi Cultural Research Society, Hino is actively engaged in themes such as:

・Brushes used for washi paper

・Changes in ink color on washi paper

・Applications of rubbings using washi paper

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There are times when a person is born possessing all the elements required for a particular profession.
Such a person dedicates their life to that calling, pursues relentless effort, and achieves unparalleled accomplishments.

Chosen by the divine, and chosen by their craft.

A genius destined for their calling.

From time to time, such individuals emerge.
One of them became known to the baseball world by the name Ichiro.
With extraordinary skill and a slender physique, he made his way to Major League Baseball.

In a league where power players smash home runs with full swings,
and towering figures close to 2 meters tall strike out batters with fastballs exceeding 160 km/h,
Ichiro achieved results with a completely different approach, defying the conventional values of baseball in the West, captivating audiences worldwide.

Given his achievements and legacy in America, one could arguably call Ichiro the “founder of the Way of Baseball.”
At least, that’s what I personally believe.

I’m no baseball expert, nor have I studied Ichiro in depth, but I’d like to offer my own take and analyze what I call “Ichiro’s Way of Baseball.”

The Foundation of Ichiro’s Way

Where does this path lead?

To win a game by outscoring the opponent by just one run.
To achieve this, he focused on doing what needed to be done and what he was capable of doing.
The first step in this process: knowing oneself deeply and thoroughly.
Through analysis, he determined what was necessary in any given moment and executed it.
Calmly and consistently.

This, I believe, forms the foundation of Ichiro’s Way of Baseball.

The “Japanese Essence” in Ichiro’s Play

When Ichiro went to America, his “Japanese essence” stood out even more prominently.
His stance in the batter’s box was nothing short of that of a samurai.

It was beautiful.

The way he handled his equipment was meticulous and professional.
He must have studied their usage thoroughly.

Historically, the approach to tools has been markedly different between Japan and the West.
In the West, tools are continuously improved to make them more efficient and easier to use.

In contrast, Japanese people often refine their skills and techniques, even with tools that are somewhat inconvenient or lacking in rationality.
This is what leads to the concept of “The Way” (Dō).
And it is also the “Japanese essence” within Ichiro.

The Art of the Bat

Take, for example, Ichiro’s use of the bat.
He wielded it with the finesse of a tennis racket.
His bat control likely mirrored the level of precision found in tennis placements.

Using the bat as if it had a wide surface like a racket, he brought the intricate placement strategies of tennis into the realm of baseball.
(Not that I can say for sure, but that’s my impression.)

Rather than merely focusing on hitting the “sweet spot” of the bat, he utilized a broader range of points with intent.
He wasn’t just aiming for general areas like left-center field or the gap between second and shortstop;
he targeted highly specific spots.
I believe his batting was geared toward setting up the next action or base-running, making every placement deliberate and calculated.

Strategy and Probability

Ichiro was always strategic, constantly evaluating the probabilities of potential plays.
What would yield the best outcome?
What was the optimal response for himself?

He wouldn’t always aim for a clean hit; sometimes, he intentionally made weaker contact to leverage his speed and reach first base.
He likely even considered how to disrupt the defensive rhythm of the opposing team.
What a frustrating player he must have been for his opponents!

Every play he made was likely an output of his unique Way of Baseball.

Beyond the Game

He brought us years of enjoyment with his remarkable performances.
And at times, he even veered away from the strict path of baseball to offer moments of entertainment.

This is, of course, just my personal analysis, and he might strongly disagree with my interpretations.
I’d love to have a chance to speak with him directly to hear his thoughts.

But then again…

Wouldn’t it be amazing if he came out of retirement?

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“Zen and Calligraphy: A Dialogue on Kissa Ko”
William Reed × Kenshu Furukawa, Senior Zen Master

Column: Reaching “Kissa Ko”
Representative of LLC WANOMORI

Shinji Kasai of Nishijima had crafted a large sheet of handmade washi paper, and I found myself pondering what words to write on it.
That’s when my eyes fell upon the Zen phrase “Kissa Ko” (“Have a cup of tea”).
It seemed to fit perfectly.
The phrase would suit both the size of the paper and the brush.
It would also harmonize well with the texture of the washi.

ー趙州喫茶去　引用ー
師問二新到。上座曾到此間否。
云不曾到。
師云。
「喫茶去」
又問。那一人曾到此間否。
云曾到。
師云。
「喫茶去」
院主問。
和尚不曾到教伊喫茶去即且置。
曾到為什麼教伊喫茶去。
師云院主。
院主應諾。
師云。
「喫茶去」

– To Arrive, Not to Arrive, and Emptiness –

Whether a monk comes to practice for the first time, has visited several times, or has served for many years, there is no true “arrival” at the end.
Even when one thinks they have reached the conclusion, it is not truly the end.
The path continues to shift and flow. Like waves that ebb and flow, sometimes we ride them, sometimes we resist them, but the waves never cease.

Even winning an Olympic gold medal does not mean one has “arrived.”
It is merely an achievement in comparison to other participants.
In comparison to oneself over time, one might still be far from “arrival.”

That said, a gold medal is a gold medal.

Have Some Tea. (喫茶去 / Kissa Ko)

Take a moment to pause, enjoy the tea, and then begin your next step forward.

Kaori Icho, who has stood at the Olympic pinnacle four times, continues her career.
This is precisely the essence of Have Some Tea (喫茶去 / Kissa Ko).

Have Some Tea.

Last year, during an event held on the temple grounds to write the Zen phrase Kissa Ko (Have Some Tea), I learned that Zen Master Kenshu Furukawa chose “Kissa Ko” as the central theme for his lecture at Erinji Temple.

Without prior consultation, I had also chosen to write “Kissa Ko” for the event.
This felt like a case of serendipity or synchronicity—terms in English that capture the essence of such meaningful coincidences.

There are moments when we encounter unexplainable coincidences.

Perhaps those who keep their hearts wide open are more likely to experience such gentle, fortunate encounters.
And sometimes, these simple coincidences give birth to rare and valuable new ideas.

Zhaozhou and the Spirit of Endless Pursuit

Zhaozhou (778–897), a Zen master during the Tang Dynasty, is said to have lived an extraordinary 120 years.
Perhaps his relentless pursuit of the Way and his dedication to unending practice made such a long life possible.

At the age of 60, he embarked on a new journey of training.
His attitude of living each day without being consumed by time offers a profound and inspiring example.

Tea and Its Evolution in Zhaozhou’s Era

Around this period, Lu Yu (733–804) authored the Classic of Tea (Cha Jing), the oldest book on tea.
Thanks to this work, we can gain insight into tea culture during Zhaozhou’s time.

The tea of that era was prepared from bǐng chá—compressed tea cakes that were dried, ground into powder, and then brewed.
This method, designed for ease of transport, reflected the practical needs of the time. Tea culture has continually evolved, adapting to the environments that surround it.

And thanks to this evolution, we can enjoy the delicious teas we have today.

Tea’s Journey to Japan

Tea may have arrived in Japan as a medicine during the time of Xu Fu’s legend.
However, the custom of drinking tea is believed to have been brought over by the Japanese envoys to Sui and Tang China.

Later, the monk Eisai introduced the Kissa Yōjōki (Drinking Tea for Health), further embedding tea into Japanese culture.
Today, tea is deeply intertwined with Japan’s cultural fabric.

In Europe, the establishment of the East India Company brought about that fortunate moment.

Dr. John Coakley Lettsom, an English physician, documented this history in his The Natural History of the Tea Tree (1772).
Although it contains considerable bias, its detailed explanations and illustrations make it a natural history work worth reading.

Among those who were skeptical of tea, rumors spread that the green color came from artificial coloring using verdigris.
Accepting something new takes time.

The book also notes that tea was initially imported via the Netherlands, primarily from Japan, but gradually shifted to China.
Had it not been for Japan’s isolationist policy (sakoku), British tea-drinking habits might have revolved around matcha or sencha instead of black tea.
Cultural development, after all, is often influenced by political factors.

In the West, tea spread primarily because of its taste and health benefits.
In Japan, however, tea incorporated philosophy, spirituality, and unique cultural ideals, leading to a distinct evolution.
The Japanese tea ceremony (chanoyu) is generally said to have been completed through the contributions of Juko, Jo-o, and Rikyu.
By the time the British first tasted tea, it had already been perfected as an art form and cultural expression.
This is something Japan can be proud of.
Okakura Tenshin, in his The Book of Tea, pointed out that the tea ceremony is one of the best tools for conveying “us” to people of other cultures.

That said, contemporary tea ceremony often faces criticism for being overly formal and commercialized, failing to generate the profound values it once did during its formative years.
This may be understandable to some extent.

During an era when people lived with swords at their sides, desperate to survive, the impermanence of life—symbolized by the friend sitting next to you in the tearoom vanishing like dew on the battlefield—nourished the world of wabi-cha.
Perhaps it is impossible to recreate such a world in modern times.

Yet, traditions that exist only for preservation will one day be forgotten.
They must evolve in the present to remain relevant.

And So…

A dialogue that delves into the spiritual culture underpinning Zen, ink calligraphy (bokuseki), and the tea ceremony from a contemporary perspective is bound to be rich with insight—a starting point to transform stillness into movement.

With that,

Have Some Tea (喫茶去 / Kissa Ko).

<Reference Books>

Cha Jing” (The Classic of Tea)
The Classic of Tea: Complete Translation and Commentary (Kodansha)
By Chofu Nunome

“Kissa Yōjōki” (Drinking Tea for Health)
Eisai’s Kissa Yōjōki (Kodansha)
By Shokin Furuta

“The Natural History of Tea”
The Natural History of Tea: A Study on the Tea Plant and Tea Drinking (Kodansha)
By John Coakley Lettsom, Translated by Akiko Takiguchi

“The Natural History of Tea”
The Natural History of Tea: A Study on the Tea Plant and Tea Drinking (Kodansha)
By John Coakley Lettsom, Translated by Akiko Takiguchi

※Please note: This event concluded on February 22, 2022.

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