Stillness | Naoyuki Agawa (Vice-President in charge of Shonan Fujisawa Campus)

2010.10.07

Just as the oppressively hot and long summer was finally showing signs of ending, I set out on another journey. In the first week of September, though I wasn't exactly beckoned by the wind like a drifting cloud, I visited Yamagata and Miyagi to participate in a workshop at the Yoshino Sakuzo Memorial Museum. Immediately after returning to Tokyo, I headed to New York to attend the local Mita-kai and the entrance ceremony at Keio Academy of New York, then returned to Japan after finishing a meeting at Yale University. Four days later, I flew to Washington to attend the annual general meeting of the U.S.-Japan Council, which was launched with leading Japanese Americans at its core. Right after coming home, my schedule continued with a retreat for my research seminar in Ito, followed by a lecture at the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force Officer Candidate School in Etajima, Hiroshima Prefecture. The new semester's lectures were also starting. It was a hectic schedule, but all the while, I was carrying out my routine duties as Vice-President at my travel destinations. Just so there are no misunderstandings.

To begin with, there's something odd about people who run around saying how busy they are. They use their busyness as an excuse to avoid confronting fundamental issues that require deep thought. They are afraid of stopping. I myself, who sometimes say such things to you students, am running around looking busy for no good reason. Great hypocrisy. A great contradiction. But there's nothing I can do about it. At the very least, I should try to stop sometimes and make time—an hour, or even just a minute—to do nothing.

When I went to participate in the workshop at the Yoshino Memorial Museum, I left Yokohama a day early and visited Risshaku-ji Temple in Yamagata Prefecture with an economist, Mr. I. In Sendai, I switched from the Tohoku Shinkansen to a train on the Senzan Line, a railway connecting Sendai and Yamagata, and after entering the mountains and crossing a pass, I got off at a station called Yamadera. When the train stops, a quietness envelops the area. I met Mr. I here, and we headed for Risshaku-ji Temple.

In the domain of Yamagata, there is a mountain temple called Risshaku-ji. Founded by Jikaku Daishi, it is a place of particular tranquility.

This ancient temple, which Basho wrote about in "Oku no Hosomichi," is commonly known as Yamadera, and true to its name ("mountain temple"), it is located quite high up when viewed from below. I heard there were a thousand steps to the top. The heat had eased somewhat that day, and although the sun was still strong, it was cool and pleasant in the shade of the trees. A gentle breeze was blowing. Still, I started to sweat as I began to climb, and before I had gone even 100 meters, I stopped for a break at a tea house by the side of the path—named Ennin (the name of Jikaku Daishi)—and bought a nostalgic bottle of ramune soda. An elderly couple was relaxing on a bench. They invited me to sit with them. "Are you going to climb up now?" "Yes." Words were exchanged in the quiet shade.

"Still, you two are an unusual pair."

They seemed to find it strange that two men of a certain age were visiting a temple together.

"Yes, my name is 'Sora,' and this gentleman's name is 'Matsuo.'"

When I answered, the old couple looked blank for a moment. Nearby, statues of Basho and Sora were chuckling. Mr. I, too, shook his large frame and laughed heartily.

The path up to the main hall was surprisingly steep, with steps that continued to wind and twist around the rocky mountain. Climbing slowly, step by step, I eventually came to a place called Semizuka (the Cicada Mound). There stood a monument inscribed with the haiku Basho composed at this temple—"Stillness— / the cicadas' cry / sinks into the rocks"—and it is said that the remains of cicadas are buried at its base as a memorial. Indeed, the surroundings were quiet. Not even the sound of cicadas could be heard. If the tourists didn't speak, there was no sound at all. I continued to climb further, and the Kaisan-do Hall, which I finally reached, was also silent. Looking back, far below the mountain path I had just climbed, there was a village on the flat land at the foot of the mountain, with fields of yellowing rice spreading out. Beyond that were more mountains, the sky, and floating clouds.

Three weeks later, after having made two round trips to America and returned, I was on the western edge of Etajima. This area is connected by land to Etajima and shares the same town name, but it is known by the name of another island, Nomi-jima. Here, there is a culinary ryokan called Tsuboki, where people associated with the Officer Candidate School often stay. Before graduation, the officer candidates hold a thank-you party here. I stayed here the night before my lecture.

Apparently still feeling the effects of jet lag, I woke up just after 5:00 the next morning. I lingered in my futon for a while, but as the surroundings gradually brightened, I decided to get up and go outside. After walking just 30 meters or so, I came out onto a road along the coast. There was a breakwater and a small fishing port. Its name was Hata Port. Early in the morning, a lone fisherman was tending to his fishing gear on a small boat. The sun had already risen and the sunlight was strong, but the morning air was refreshing. The sea stretched out before me.

To the sea of Tsuboki,

where whales are caught,

autumn has come.

Before my eyes lay Daikokukami-jima, an uninhabited island densely covered with trees. The sea near this island serves as an anchorage for Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force vessels, and about 10 years ago, when I made an overnight voyage from off the coast of Nagato in Yamaguchi Prefecture to Kure on the destroyer JS Murasame, we dropped anchor here for the night before entering port. At night, in the darkness, this island lay like a black mass. Hashirajima, which the Combined Fleet used as an anchorage, is also not far south from here. To the west of Daikokukami-jima, beyond the sea surface glittering in the morning sun, the city of Iwakuni was visible. Mountains and islands overlapped in layers upon the sea.

Watching the grey herons resting their wings here and there in the fishing port, I walked a little north along the breakwater and came to a small beach. From this side, Miyajima, famous for Itsukushima Shrine, was visible. There was no one on the beach, and the gentle waves of the inland sea lapped at the shore. Pebbles were scattered along the water's edge, and crouching down to look closely, I saw they had various colors and shapes. A long, smooth, milky-white stone, just the right size to hold in one's hand, like a tool from the Stone Age. A shapely, dark grey stone that looked like one of the rocks from the Ryoan-ji Temple garden, compressed and miniaturized. A small, flat, pure white stone with a single raised vein running through its center.

When and where were these stones formed, and how did they find their way to this beach? I slept through most of my earth science classes in high school, so I don't know their names or types. Besides, unlike humans, stones do not speak. They remain silent, not boasting of their history of hundreds of millions, or billions, of years. I picked up a few of the silent pebbles and put them in my pocket. The beach was exceedingly quiet.

Over these past three weeks, I have traveled to many places. Yamagata, New York, Tokyo, Washington, and Etajima. In the age of Jikaku Daishi and Basho, travel, aside from by boat, was mostly on foot. They walked from Kyoto to Edo, and further on to the province of Mutsu. Jikaku Daishi crossed to China by boat and walked tirelessly there as well. Even our own Yukichi Fukuzawa walked a great deal. Travel in the old days must have been arduous, but time would have flowed slowly, and there must have been an abundance of silence. They must have continued their journeys as if enveloped by the land, the sea, and the sky.

At a recent gathering of young Japanese and American naval officers at Pearl Harbor, the U.S. Navy's highest-ranking officer, Chief of Naval Operations Roughead, was asked what an officer should keep in mind, and he answered as follows.

Sometimes you should have a quiet conversation with yourself.

To the students of SFC. Sometimes, you should cast aside your books and go out into the fields. Leave behind your PCs and cell phones, your iPods and iPads, and go on a journey. And it would be good to have a quiet talk with yourself.

As I stood for a while on the shore of Nomi-jima with the waves lapping, on that autumn morning, I thought to myself that this is what I would tell the students when I returned to SFC.

(Date Published: 2010/10/07)