A Walk in the Park

Atomic Bomb Dome

 At 8:15am on 6th August 1945, the first atomic bomb in human history was dropped on Hiroshima. Although, the Atomic Bomb Dome was located almost directly underneath the explosion, it somehow avoided complete destruction and the remains of the building still stand today. The residents of Hiroshima decided to keep this tragic reminder of war intact. The site was designated as a World Heritage Site in 1996.

Atomic Bomb Memorial Mound

The Atomic Bomb Memorial Mound is a large, grass-covered knoll that contains the cremated ashes of 70,000 unidentified victims of the bomb.

Korean Cenotaph

When the atomic bomb was dropped the lives of more than 20,000 Koreans were suddenly taken. Within the monument’s stone chest is a register bearing 2,663 names of Korean A-bomb victims who have been identified.

Memorial Cenotaph

The names of all those who lost their lives are inscribed inside the central stone vault regardless of nationality. It currently holds more than 290,000 names of those who lost their lives to the bomb and new names are discovered and added to the list every year.

Mother and Child in the Storm

Monument of the A-Bombed Teachers and Students of Elementary Schools

Children's Peace Monument

This monument was dedicated on Children's Day, 1958, to Sadako Sasaki, who was exposed to the atomic bombing when she was 2 years old. She developed leukemia ten years later and passed away. Shocked by her death, her classmates put out a national call to "build a monument to mourn all the children who died from the atomic bombing." With the support of students in more than 3,100 schools throughout Japan and nine other countries, including Great Britain, this 9 m-high bronze statue was completed.

Standing on the top of the three-legged dome pedestal is the bronze figure of a girl holding up a gold-colored folded paper crane. On the left and right flanks of the pedestal are suspended boy and girl figures symbolizing a bright future and hope. The stone underneath the pedestal is inscribed, "This is our cry. This is our prayer. For building peace in this world."

Peace Bell

This was installed with the aim of abolishing nuclear weapons and bringing about world peace. Cast by expert bell-caster and national treasure Masahiko Katori, a world map without national borders is on the surface of the bell to symbolize a single, unified world. People are free to strike the bell, so please take the opportunity to do so with a prayer for world peace.

New Leaves

Naked

     That's how traveling alone can feel sometimes. You feel out of place. You feel exposed. You feel unprotected. You feel vulnerable.
     Even with these feelings, you wonder sometimes whether or not you are getting a truly authentic cultural experience. There are a few questions you can ask to to discern how representative your experience really is:
     Are there locals here?
     Are the locals here speaking primarily in their native language?
     Do they express surprise that I am here with them?
     Am I the only foreigner here?
   
     An experience I had at a Japanese Onsen drove this point home succinctly. I knew my cultural experience was off to a good start when the receptionist didn't speak a word of English. I further knew that I was getting an authentic experience because the brochure she handed me to explain what couldn't be verbalized was also fully in Japanese. Through a series of pantomimes and pointing at pictures we were able to communicate to one another well enough.
     I took the bag she had given me with the towel and pajamas into the locker room. I tried several lockers wondering at how many of them were being used until I realized the wrist strap she gave me had a key tucked into it with a number on it. I found the corresponding locker and opened it right up. I put on the pajamas and started to make my way into the mineral pool area.
     "Where am I supposed to put these clothes and my towel when I am in the mineral pool?" I thought to myself.
     My answer revealed itself abruptly. As I walked in, everyone was staring at me. Some looked at me disapprovingly while others looked at me with pity, but all eyes were on me when I entered the room. I was the only man with any clothes on at all.
     "So this is how it's done," I realized.
     I walked back to the locker room and put the pajamas back into the locker. Taking only my towel with me this time, I returned to the mineral pools. I drew a few looks this time when entering the area, but they quickly turned away. Nothing strange was occurring.
     "Ok," I thought.
     I went back and forth between the scalding hot mineral pools, the frigid cold water pool, the blistering dry sauna, and the cleansing wet sauna for a couple of hours. During this time I began to notice certain courtesies that were used even in this most vulnerable environment.
     Men covered themselves with their towels until they were actually getting into the pools.
     Although the pools were generally large and could easily fit several people, most men would give each other a pool to themselves unless there were no other pools available.
     When sitting in a pool and noticing someone is waiting, a man would be considerate about not taking too much time before allowing the other man to have the pool after him.
     The towels were placed upon one's head while in a pool, so that it does not lie around outside in someone else's way.

     As I noticed these courtesies I also tried to implement them in my own behavior. Not only did I get less of a feeling that I was an outsider, but I even got a few bows of gratitude as I gave up a pool to someone new. I returned them in kind.
     It was an interesting experience that demonstrates that even at our most vulnerable we can make connections with one another. It is when we are stripped of all of the ways that we thought defined us that we are free to discover how we relate to one another.
     We can learn without being taught.
     We can express ourselves without words.
     We can demonstrate our personality without relying on appearance.
     We can adapt without being forced to.

     Perhaps it is at our most vulnerable that we are truly free to connect with one another.

In the Stillness

     As I finish up my shower, it feels strange to crawl directly into a big bathtub. I pull the top closed above me and rythmic music begins to be heard. It takes a moment of being in the water to realize that I don't have to make myself float. The salinity is so thick that all I have to do is just lie there. The music continues playing for another five minutes before I push the button on the side that turns off the light. Now there is just the rythmic music in the darkness. I feel muscles I didn't know were tense relax. The music continues for another five minutes before it fades out completely. Now there is just the darkness.
     Every breath is like the tide. I am fully aware of each time the breath moves through my nose and down into my lungs. There is a pause for just the briefest of moments. Then I am just as aware when my lungs give way to push it back out the same way it came in. My heartbeat is a metronome, ticking quietly in the background but always there nonetheless.

     In the darkness my thoughts begin to wander. I reflect on my life as it is, as it has been, and as I would like it to be. Faces join me in the dark. Friendly faces that I know have passed on already, but despite their passing they feel close nevertheless. I smile at each of them and feel it is returned. I find myself praying in the midst of an ever-changing cacophony of transcendent images. My prayers begin as they always do, with what I hope to receive. But as they continue, they evolve. The prayers of longing become prayers of gratitude for opportunity. These evolve further into prayers of gratitude for what I have been blessed with already and the wondrous experience that this life has been.
     Slowly this fades as well. Thoughts no longer have words attached to them. My breathing slows. Though I am still aware of it, the rythm has changed. It is slower and quieter. I am alone in the darkness, now without even my thoughts. I am simply overwhelmed... with gratitude.

     I rest easily, scarcely aware that it is happening.

     The music begins again. What starts as a whisper grows to chant. It is raising my awareness of the world around me. Deep drums beat to a steady rythm in the darkness. I enjoy their company. This continues for another ten minutes to signify to me that my time is finished here. I reach up into blackness and find a handle. I push it open and the light rushes in. I step out and rinse the salt from my body. Putting the same clothes on when I arrived, I am more aware of how each fabric touches my skin.
     I express my gratitude to the proprietor and make my way outside. Walking along the street, I find that my attention is drawn to the grass and the flowers whereas when I arrived my attention was always on the storefronts facing the street. Along the way back to the apartment, I am acutely aware through my shirt of when the sun is shining or shaded. I noticed flower patterns I have not seen in the previous three weeks I stayed here.

     What a wonder it is to see the world for what it is. How incredible to be fully aware of each individual movement my body makes. What a blessing it is to know that when everything is taken from our senses, the only thing left is gratitude.

Keep Climbing

Though you may not where the path will end, but it seems to be clear in front of you... keep climbing.

When the path is overgrown and the forest seems to be closing in... keep climbing.

As obstacles contort the path in front of you... keep climbing.

When you have the opportunity to see how far you have come, soak it in... keep climbing.

As the goals you set are just ahead... keep climbing.

To know what awaits you at the top of the mountain, you just have to do one simple thing... keep climbing.

Deeper Waters

     As I sink under the water, the world disappears from my vision. Liquid overwhelms every one of my five senses. My world has become so much smaller. Now my field of vision is scarcely 10-15 feet. I drift downward, knowing nothing of what the depths have in store for me. Slowly, the sea floor emerges. At first, it seems chaotic, without pattern or reason. Steadily, however, minute systems begin to take shape. Sea anemones lie in wait for their prey. Scuttlefish scurry across the sandy surface. Crabs crawl carelessly over the fields of kelp. Eels guard themselves under deep cover of holes in the rock. To the discerning eye, life is not only present but abundant.
   
     I have been blessed with many experiences that embody what people imagine diving to be. These experiences have been filled with beautiful fish, warm waters, and clear visibility. This is my first dive into the colder waters. My previous dives brought me many joyful experiences, but the life I witnessed today could not have lived in the warm tropical environments. I know that I was not there to bring light. I was not there to bring warmth. I was not there to bring any of these creatures with me to a beautiful paradise. I was simply there to be with them and appreciate them.
     I cannot help but notice the way this parallels my life right now. For many years, my sister had been separated from our family. We did not speak or visit. While we wondered how life was for her, it simply remained apart from us. It was cold. Now, however, we have spent the past three weeks together. We have visited. We have enjoyed our time together. We have loved one another. There has been no revelation that cleared all misunderstandings. There has been no miraculous healing of rifts or sudden blooms of life. There has simply been presence together. Nothing more. And nothing less.
     I am so grateful.
     I imagine this analogy spreading itself to more than just my relationship with my sister. I imagine how it looks throughout all of my life's relationships. There is beautiful life to be found near the surface. It is vibrant. It is colorful. It is pleasing to the eye and idealized in stories. But there is also life well below what we can see. There is life in the murky waters. There is life that prefers the cold. There is life that disdains the light from above and recoils at the sun's rays. There is life beyond our idealized settings. There is life where many of us believe to be none.
   
     We do not enter these spaces to bring warmth. We do not enter these spaces to bring light. We do not enter these spaces to bring some miraculous exodus. The life here is built for the depths and there it remains. I thank God that I can simply be present with it. I thank God that I can simply witness it's beauty beneath a surface that only appears foreboding. And I know now that when others let us enter the deeper places where their hearts reside, it is not to draw their hearts to the surface but rather to simply be present with them.
     I thank God for this revelation. I thank Him for the realization that sunlight, vibrant colors, and swarms of pleasing visions have their place, but beneath the shallows life continues to abound in the darkness, inhabiting the cold, and filling the depths.
     Where we can see life, there is beautiful life. Where we cannot see life, there is also beautiful life. If only we have the courage to be present with it. I have enjoyed my time in the shallows, but, from now on, I will also appreciate the very different kinds of life that can only be found in the deeper waters.

A Little Kindness

"No good deed goes unpunished."

That is the mentality that many of us have these days. There is division in our country, in our families, in our ideologies, and the list goes on and on. It is a virus that spreads and eats away at our souls, at our happiness, and at our peace. Thinking only of ourselves and of others only in how they relate to us builds walls between us that isolate me from you, you from him, him from her, etc.

I am grateful to be able to share an experience that realigned my perspective:

While my mother, sister and I sat at the 4-top table in the cruise restaurant, the 2-top next to us was sat with a single gentleman. He introduced himself to the waiter by name and shook his hand when he did so. The waiter asked if he would have anyone joining him this evening. The gentleman replied that it would just be him tonight, as his planned companion had been caught up with other plans. I couldn't help but overhear all of this because our tables are probably no more than 12-18 inches apart from one another.

"I couldn't help but overhear that you are dining alone this evening. Would you like to join us for dinner?" I asked.

"Oh, that would be great. Are you sure? I don't want to impose," he replied politely.

I insisted that we would love to have him join us. So, he picked up his glass and silverware and came around to take our fourth seat. The waiter took note immediately and simply continued service with us as one group. We very much enjoyed the conversations we shared, finding both similarities and minute differences intriguing. It wasn't until we were well into our conversation that he asked us if we had seen the Footloose production on the ship. We replied that we had not only seen it, but enjoyed it thoroughly. He asked us if we had recognized him. We shook our heads questioningly. He then changed his accent from its natural Scottish tone to an American drawl and asked if that would have jogged our memory.

It turned out that he happened to be one of the primary actors in the cruise production of Footloose. We didn't know it while we were dining with him because his character was very different than he was. In fact, he used the American drawl for his character on stage while his natural voice has a distinct Scottish inflection.
It was fascinating to hear how he trained for the play, how life was for him as an employee on the ship, and what kinds of experiences had brought him to be working on the ship. He even was kind enough to give us some pointers on how to get the most out of our limited time on this particular cruise.

Sharing the time together was great and so, when he mentioned that he was also in the cruise's other production Elements, we made sure that our schedule opened up to go see it. When we did get to see him on stage after dining together, it felt like we were seeing a good friend rather than a random face. We enjoyed it immensely!

There are great joys to be found in opening ourselves up to other people. There are connections to be had that cannot come from prescribed experiences. Some bridges will only exist when we have the courage to step outside our comfort zone.

I am very grateful that this man joined our table, both literally and figuratively. His willingness to share his experience with us opened the door that allowed us to move from strangers to friends and the rare opportunity to see life from a wholly new perspective.

A little bit of kindness may indeed open us up to being hurt sometimes, but that same little bit of kindness also opens us up to joyful connections with friends we haven't met yet. I, for one, believe it is worth the risk.

Can't Stand Still

Tonight the musical Footloose that we watched on our cruise ship resonated poignantly. The story demonstrates how a town comes together through the bond shared by a boy whose father left behind and a father whose boy died tragically. They bond over a shared grief and the wound that grief leaves in their lives. The difference is that the father has long been trying to freeze time to avoid his pain, while the boy has embraced dancing to keep himself moving forward. In his own words, he "can't stand still." In the end, they both agree it is best to let go of their past.

This story resonates with me for many reasons. With my parents separating when I was ten years old, there were certainly many times when I felt alone. With my father's death a mere four months ago, I absolutely relate to the grief that accompanies the loss of a loved one. I know both the desire to hold onto what was and the irresistible pull to move forward.

My mother, sister, and I spent the whole day together. My sister and I played a giant game of chess on the deck of the cruise ship in honor of Dad, who had both taught us to play and played with us when we were kids . We hugged each other. We both kissed our own two fingers and raised them to the sky saying, "we love you, Dad." Mom said he was looking down, smiling at us. "I believe that," Ellen said.

We enjoyed the rest of our day together. After my mom laid down for the evening, my sister and I went out to salsa dance. She taught me how and it was fun. We then joined a karaoke group. It has been years since my sister and I have been able to play together.

Do I believe my dad is looking down, smiling at us? Absolutely. He is proud of the way we are moving forward, both individually and as a family.

This is who we are and this is how we have lived our whole lives. We know very well, you can't stand still.