17 - Where the Bomb Fell
Isn't it strange to be pulled in the direction of ultimate suffering? To have something inside you that actually wants to face the hard and ugly facts of life that most everyone else does their best to avoid? But thats just what Hiroshima was for me, a sore spot in reality that needs to be witnessed, and remembered. To be understood as more than just "The place a battle happened..." or, "Where a weapon was used on people." Out of all the choices there were, all the options to see the vast and beautiful places of Japan stretching thousands of miles and across vastly different climates, I knew which place was the most important to see. Not just because I'm a German/American whose families fought against each other in World War 2, but because I'm Human like everyone else, and life on this planet is nothing if not a test of wills sharpened against the brutal reality of our races ability to hate and fear on another.
Governments always seem to create one nightmare after the next and each more devious, dangerous and damning than the last in order to extend their eminently short shelf life, but no matter how much blood is spilt, they all fall apart eventually, even if they share a sort of continuity via a root language and technology just as the Japanese, and indeed every culture has. The fact that language outlives all culture, governments and systems of control is import to note. Why? And how do they do this? Because unlike them language isn't static, it can evolve in any direction and encompass any human concept carrying it as a vocal gene swarm continuously upgrading itself based on the needs of the people using it. Something no culture, religion or government can possibly manage without toppling the illusory structures of authority they require to exist.
Hiroshima is a prime example of governments doing what they do, for the Allies knew the Japanese wanted to surrender for some time, and that dropping the bomb was actually a warning to Russia who was planning on invading Japan from the North which would have severely complicated post war control over the Empire of the Sun. This city was erased in 1945 with a flash of light and waves of fire and radiation which created suffering on the scale never before accomplished by the meddling hands of men. It stands today as a ghost reborn from the ashes, existing proudly in defiance and as an eternal warning to humanity at large about the dangers of Atomic weapons, and the desire to use the most horrible means imaginable to resolve conflicts which were themselves contrived. The cities defiance is more than just one nations people overcoming another, or surviving and thriving in the face of histories greatest horror, for Hiroshima also outlived the Japanese Empire and its emperor. Today it lives as a unique language base in all of Japan, sharing its current language model most closely with Nagasaki for obvious reasons.
Leaving Tokyo was an odd mix of melancholy and expectation. I knew leaving was the best choice, but I also knew that I'd be out on a limb everyday till I got back home or found a new base to relax. Tokyo had become my towering temple of modernity after all, its vast access to Vegan food wonders within its sea of maze-like streets had lulled me willingly into its depths, continually amazed by its trash-less streets alit with neon strips.Yet the unknown pulled me back to a life without plans, to face mystery at every turn and all while completely alone, with only my own wit and backpacks to call upon. Why is it that our best times are those we have while riding at the edges of our seats, wide eyed and guessing at every turn?
Meanwhile society in general promotes little to no time alone or expanding oneself beyond culturally sanctioned activities. We are raised to believe that who we are is found in the group, as a part of a unit and bound to function as such, and in no way else. Isn't it obvious by now that it is our connections to others via culture that keeps us locked within our shells, hidden and safe from the ecstatic growth waiting in all our cells? There's much to say for consistency and the safety it lends the body and mind, but most of all the stomach! Natures cruelest yet most rewarding task master. How much power can such a lowly organ cast in the grand biological calculous of human decision making? Is the simple pain/pleasure model of our guts all we really need to remain in the moment?
Pray tell good patron of the arts, what say you on behalf of, and dare I say in defense of your brothers and sisters strip mining the planet in order to fuel ever greater desires for metals folded into themselves at ever more clever angles? Are you not aware that they are fractal godkins just as you are? But beware, most are engaged in co-creating catastrophes in multiplicity, as comrade's in the bustling armies of ignorance, slaving away at works they have no conception of, or worse, inclination to discover! Look! They're running roughshod amongst the bushes, beaches and bulwarks of modernity, drowning their problems in gasoline and lighting them up to full blaze in hopes they will be both dry and clean when the flames subside...
Existential Erasure Aside... We shall continue with the planless.
The only tough part about starting the journey aside from leaving my assuredly comfortable yet often noisy pod in Tokyo, was making sure I actually got to the train, this was no easy feet, for even after making sure I got there with plenty of time to spare, this was Tokyo station were talking about, the most labyrinthine underground installation of tunnels, stairways and bustling hordes of people you will ever find available to the public, and what a stark lesson in human interactions at high speed and volume it is. Miraculously I got to my train the moment it arrived, which, according to Japanese efficiency standards, meant it would be no more than three minutes until it left.
I had been told that the Soup Nazi on his worst day was nothing but a choir boy in comparison to the Japanese railroad conductors and their security measures, thus the seat I chose on the website was one of four on each side of the cabin which could hold oversized luggage. I was carrying my medium size Osprey bag and my slightly smaller Hurley backpack, so I wanted to make sure Id be okay. Once I saw the positively huge storage space, in comparison to anything you'd find in a plane, or even a small apartment, it was more than enough, in fact I realized that the overhead compartments were more than enough and I would easy be able to book the "regular" first class tickets next time.
Once I found my seat it wasn't long before we were a hundred miles outside of Tokyo, and I immediately felt a wave of tension melt away from me. For an outsider who doesn't live in Asia, much less in Tokyo, or even in a city of great size, the insane speed and high energy output of life in the worlds biggest city is truly overwhelming. Don't underestimate the power of so many people doing so many things all in one place...
As I traveled towards Hiroshima I began to reflect on all my experiences with the Japanese people thus far, about how distant almost all of them are, and yet, even with that distance there remains an intense connection between us. One that I believe is the direct result of Japanese thinking. They have a saying called Kodowari, which essentially means self mastery. And through this essential element of their worldview one can easy love and also hate them, for it creates an almost impenetrable barrier that can so often seem cold and calculated. It is this same mental mechanism which places the Japanese in a similar category as the Germans, for they too hold a left brain mentality which skirts the right only enough to survive as a viable culture.
The train ride was amazing! I couldn't believe how stable it was considering the speeds we were going. Apparently there are several models of bullet train, the newest ones having inertial dampeners built into the engine which can reduce friction and noise so much its almost like skating on air. I believe I was on that model on the way to Hiroshima, but cannot be sure since they look practically identical. I had to transfer twice on the 10 hour ride, thoroughly enjoying my gameboy and the Balder's Gate game I was getting into. Another artifact of my childhood, as I can still remember the sight and sounds of fighting giant rats in the wine cellars and sewers of the city.
Upon exiting the train station in Hiroshima I was immediately struck by the difference in temperature and also of the feeling I got from the people. It was so different there and also in the smaller cities I transferred between that I began to think that no place in the world felt like Tokyo, not even a single city anywhere else in Japan. Hiroshima shows little to no physical signs of the bombing that took place 80 years ago, but let me tell you, the moment you see the facade of Prefecture Hall, the most famous building to survive the hellfire, you will feel it. Unless your a primary or secondary psychopath of course, then you might even enjoy the miasma of death and destruction which still hangs about the place.
I went from one installation to the next, tears flowing from my eyes, witnessing the horror without defenses, feeling it all, knowing that the only way to prevent anything like this from happening again, is to fully comprehend and respect the terrible powers we possess, and to forever instill the differences between necessity and political expediency. To chose the right even when facing might, even when loosing is in sight. To train the young so completely in Truth, Love and Freedom that no aspect of slavery can ever again creep into the human condition.
It was all just a preamble for what was to come though, the park was overwhelming enough, but the museum was the final straw. I paid the token 200 yen to get in, not even $2 US and got myself a translator machine with an ear piece, which allowed me to input numbers for each zone, explaining what I was seeing. For over an hour I went from one nightmarish exhibit to next, stopping frequently to hold myself up against a wall, wiping a seemingly endless stream of tears from my eyes.
As I did so I was pushed aside by hordes of tourists. Only then did I realize, to my further horror, that not a single one of them was crying, much less showing any emotion worthy of the name. Many of them were actually laughing, jumping for joy through the museum as though cutting in line at an amusement park, completely transfixed on all the wrong things. At one point it was all too much for me and I had to sit down. It was then and only then I ran into a lady who could have been crying, or perhaps simply exhausted by standing so long, but aside from her, I was the only person there showing a full range of emotions out of a stream of hundreds.
Leaving the museum I immediately felt a desire to sooth my aching heart, and found a vegan ice cream vendor inside the park store. Paying the man I sat outside in a daze, watching one international tour group after the next pass by, lead by a man or woman with a microphone or radio. It was a beautiful day, which made my experience there all the more melancholy. Can a heart break from horror and beauty at the same time?
It was only after finding my bed and falling into sleep, that I would find my answer...