First, a caveat. My struggles with writing this post in particular are a significant part of the reason for my absence from blogging for a while. I started writing this in the middle of 2018, but never could get it to a state with which I was happy. I still think it is not there; but I think also that this is an important and useful topic to get out there. So, I'll post it now, and if I have further insights or thoughts on it, I'll post an addendum. There are two distinct parts to this post. Perhaps I should have broken this into two; but I felt the parallel between them was important. Oh, well, enough rambling.....
I'm sure you've heard the canard many times: "Ignorance is bliss." In a world that seems devoted to crushing even the most optimistic spirit, this phrase is often used to denigrate a person who seems overwhelmingly happy by suggesting that such a person is happy only because he or she is unaware of the evils that should be grinding them into dust.
Perhaps there is some truth to that. I'm sure we can all imagine a time when bad news drove us to such distraction that we recognized how much more positive our outlook was before we heard the news. Bliss is, according to most dictionaries: happiness, pleasure, joy, delight. And in every experience we have with evil, we acutely feel that immediate loss of happiness that comes when our ignorance of that reality is abruptly removed.
Should we strive for such temporary, fleeting hedonism? Shutting our eyes and ears to the evils of the world in order to preserve the things that make up the perfect picture of what we think we love about life? While I think many of us do this on a daily basis, this is not what I mean. But, it is surprisingly close.
You see, in today's society, all of those words associated with bliss are the same words often associated with love. But that is because our modern society has a very limited view of love. And, more importantly, a very flawed sense of the direction of love.
I recently read an article shared by a friend of mine in which the author lamented being unable to love a severely mentally disabled sibling. In fact, the author argues that pre-natal screening and selective abortion of individuals identified to be likely to suffer from such developmental retardation is an acceptable and preferred course.
I can understand the frustration. Here is an individual who is so under-developed mentally that he or she is possibly incapable of interacting with other human beings; at least other adult human beings. Such a person might have the emotional development of a toddler, but the physical development of an adult. Such an individual can -- and often does -- inflict great damage both physically and emotionally on friends, family, and even themselves. But, such a person does so entirely out of ignorance.
When an alcoholic or other substance abuser causes pain for his or her friends and family while under the influence, do we recognize that the harms done are done out of ignorance, because the individual is suffering from his or her disease? Do we not encourage that person to seek treatment and support? We do not argue that it is better to identify those genetically disposed to alcoholism and terminate them in the womb.
Part of emotional maturity is recognizing that everybody is dealing with their own demons. None of us is able to live a life on Earth of pure bliss. And yet we dare to love our family members, our spouses, our friends, and neighbors. But, to be truly loving of them is not to expect them to love you; but to extend that love to them, regardless of what they have done or might do to you. If you think you are loving someone and expecting something in return, that is not love; that is a business transaction.
So, to strive for ignorance is to love someone who has done nothing to earn your love, and who has quite possibly done things out of their own ignorance to be seemingly less deserving of your love. To strive for ignorance is to love someone as though you are ignorant of whatever evil he or she has done to you or to others. It is to love someone as though you are ignorant of whether or not they express love toward you.
Now, I'm going to totally change gears on you and talk about how this relates just as well to scientific endeavours.(!) What could all of this talk of love and bliss have to do with science? Stick with me, dear reader, and maybe I can convince you.
In science, too, there is of late an argument growing for the advantage of ignorance. No, not ignorance of the basis foe one's efforts; but rather the ignorance of the background and motivations of the work of others. In science, review of our work by our peers is the cornerstone of our endeavour. Without it, science is little more than idle chatter. In science, we develop hypotheses, make observations to test those hypotheses, and revise them if necessary (or take more careful measurements). Yet, none of this has any lasting meaning or value in the field if it is not read and reviewed by our peers and found by them to be of sufficient quality to represent a true advancement of knowledge. Our past research is reviewed by our peers before it can be published; and our proposed research is reviewed by our peers in order to determine whether we will be awarded funding to complete our work.
But, peer review goes deeper than that. A good reviewer of a research article or proposal is not seeking to torpedo the effort, she or he is seeking to improve the quality of an existing work. The reviewer identifies the flaws that detract from the anticipated results, or the purported conclusions. In most cases, following a reviewer's report, the author of a work is able to significantly improve it. And, a good reviewer (yes, there are abundant "Reviewer Twos" out there, but most are good reviewers) will write his or her review with this intention of improving the existing work, whether a research article or a proposal. Well, what is love but "to will the good of another."
Recently, there has been a movement in the scientific community (some subdisciplines have move more quickly than others) toward an ideal of what is called "double blind" reviews. Currently -- at least in planetary science and astronomy, the fields with which I am most familiar -- most reviews are completed by anonymous referees who have access to information that identifies the author of the work to be reviewed, but who are unknown by the original author. The idea is that anonymity allows a referee to comment truthfully and thoroughly on a work, withou fear of reprisal. In a double blind review, the referee has access to the work, but not to the identify of author. The idea is that a referee can perhaps be biased in his or her assessment of the work, perhaps as a result of the author's reputation (or lack thereof), or even as a result of past interactions with the author (at conferences, for example, or even social media). In a sense, by moving more deliberately in this direction, the scientific community is recognizing the value of striving for ignorance in the assessment of our peers' efforts.
In a double blind review, we strip away everything that we might have known about the individual who has presented the work to be reviewed, and focus only on the merits (and demerits) of the current work itself. The author again has a blank slate. If the work is quality, it will stand; if it is not, it will fall. It becomes that simple. In the same way, we ought to strive for similar "double blind" ignorance in our dealings with our fellow humans. It is hard to forget every harm or good another person may have done to us; but, in the moment, it can be helpful to consider the merits of what is being offered in the here and now. It can be harder work than pre-judging a person based on your personal history with that person, or people like them (pre-judging... also known as prejudice or, more mildly, bias), but, in the long run, it is more fair to both you and the person with whom you are interacting. It is vital to meet people where they are. "Striving for Ignorance" helps us to do that.
Friday, November 29, 2019
Wednesday, November 20, 2019
Bright lights in the West; Get ready for the Big One!
I'm coming out of my work-induced blog-semi-retirement to let you know of some very important celestial events coming up. If you've been looking to the West shortly after sunset for the last month, you've been seeing Jupiter gradually getting lower in the dusky sky. If you have a low enough western horizon, you may have noticed Venus slowly approaching the giant planet. This weekend, the two will be closest together in the sky, called "Conjunction." Here is a sample view of what you might see if you have clear skies:
The time and position of the planets is set for Boulder, CO. If you live in the northern hemisphere, you'll likely see something similar to this about 30 minutes after sunset.
Once it gets late enough that these two of the brightest night sky objects begin to pass over the horizon, take a moment to notice a third planet nearby. Just a little above and to the left of the pair sits the Ringed planet, Saturn. It may be a little more difficult to identify it, because it is nearly twice as far away as Jupiter and so is somewhat fainter. But, in just two more weeks, it'll become much easier. Because (with apologies to Sam Cooke) Venus sees Jupiter comin' and she'll just pass him by. Venus continues her trek Eastward through the sky, and pays Saturn a visit on 10 December. Here is a view of how that might look:
The time of day is about the same; but the sky is a little darker, because sunset is about five minutes earlier on 10 December (in fact, the earliest sunset of the year is usually very close to this date, for northern hemisphere mid-latitudes; maybe we'll talk about that in a future blog). This image approximates the view about 45 minutes after sunset.
Now, you might think it is unusual to have two close conjunctions just a few weeks apart, and you'd be right. And, in this case, it is a hint to an even more spectacular conjunction yet to come!
You see, Jupiter moves through the sky a little more quickly than Saturn because it is closer to the Sun, and so has a shorter year. In fact, to the ancient Greeks and Romans, Saturn was the slowest planet in the sky, taking over 30 years to return to the same spot; so they named it after their god Cronus, a god of time (among other things).
Well, roughly every 19.5 years, Jupiter and Saturn, the two largest planets in our Solar System, team up for what is sometimes called the "Great Conjunction." We're due for the next one in about a year. And, mirabile visu, what a conjunction this promises to be! Next year, if you were to look West on the Northern Hemisphere Winter Solstice at about half an hour after sunset, you'd see this:
Where's the conjunction, you say? You see only one object? Let's pull out our virtual telescope:
If you time it right, you will capture a view of Saturn and Jupiter so close together that it would appear as though Jupiter could be one of Saturn's moons! In fact, some of the fainter objects in this view are moons of Saturn: Iapetus, Rhea, and Titan. Saturn takes a few days to "pass though" the Jupiter system (I told you Saturn moved slowly through the sky). Well, technically it is Jupiter that moves through the Saturn system as viewed in the sky, since it is moving faster. So, you'll have a few days to see this spectacular conjunction.
As an aside, these "Grand Conjunctions" have been viewed by Astrologers for millennia as harbingers of great change. In fact, another Grand Conjunction about two thousand years ago was particularly noteworthy. You might recall that about five years ago, Jupiter and Venus were aligned in such a way with the Earth that they performed an intricate and rare dance in the sky that resulted in three close conjunctions over the span of about a year. This (with limited originality) is called a "triple conjunction." Well, a little more than two thousand years ago, the Great Conjunction was similarly also a triple conjunction. Over the course of about six months, Jupiter and Saturn came together three separate times in the constellation Pisces. It has been suggested that this event, of which Astrologers of the era would have definitely taken notice, could be the "Star of Bethlehem," that the Magi in the Christmas narrative interpreted as a sign that a great leader had been born.
So, here is your one Jovian Synodic Period (13 months) Advance Warning: start making plans to be in a dark spot with climatologically clear evenings for Winter Solstice, 2020. Don't miss your chance to see the Conjunction of the Century!
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| Screenshot from Stellarium 0.14.3 |
Once it gets late enough that these two of the brightest night sky objects begin to pass over the horizon, take a moment to notice a third planet nearby. Just a little above and to the left of the pair sits the Ringed planet, Saturn. It may be a little more difficult to identify it, because it is nearly twice as far away as Jupiter and so is somewhat fainter. But, in just two more weeks, it'll become much easier. Because (with apologies to Sam Cooke) Venus sees Jupiter comin' and she'll just pass him by. Venus continues her trek Eastward through the sky, and pays Saturn a visit on 10 December. Here is a view of how that might look:
 |
| Screenshot from Stellarium 0.14.3 |
Now, you might think it is unusual to have two close conjunctions just a few weeks apart, and you'd be right. And, in this case, it is a hint to an even more spectacular conjunction yet to come!
You see, Jupiter moves through the sky a little more quickly than Saturn because it is closer to the Sun, and so has a shorter year. In fact, to the ancient Greeks and Romans, Saturn was the slowest planet in the sky, taking over 30 years to return to the same spot; so they named it after their god Cronus, a god of time (among other things).
Well, roughly every 19.5 years, Jupiter and Saturn, the two largest planets in our Solar System, team up for what is sometimes called the "Great Conjunction." We're due for the next one in about a year. And, mirabile visu, what a conjunction this promises to be! Next year, if you were to look West on the Northern Hemisphere Winter Solstice at about half an hour after sunset, you'd see this:
 |
| Screenshot from Stellarium 0.14.3 |
 |
| Screenshot from Stellarium 0.14.3 |
As an aside, these "Grand Conjunctions" have been viewed by Astrologers for millennia as harbingers of great change. In fact, another Grand Conjunction about two thousand years ago was particularly noteworthy. You might recall that about five years ago, Jupiter and Venus were aligned in such a way with the Earth that they performed an intricate and rare dance in the sky that resulted in three close conjunctions over the span of about a year. This (with limited originality) is called a "triple conjunction." Well, a little more than two thousand years ago, the Great Conjunction was similarly also a triple conjunction. Over the course of about six months, Jupiter and Saturn came together three separate times in the constellation Pisces. It has been suggested that this event, of which Astrologers of the era would have definitely taken notice, could be the "Star of Bethlehem," that the Magi in the Christmas narrative interpreted as a sign that a great leader had been born.
So, here is your one Jovian Synodic Period (13 months) Advance Warning: start making plans to be in a dark spot with climatologically clear evenings for Winter Solstice, 2020. Don't miss your chance to see the Conjunction of the Century!
Monday, January 29, 2018
Burns' Night 2018
I had the good fortune of meeting an authentic Scotsman a few years back. He, and another friend from the hinterlands of north England, introduced me, some years ago, to the marvel that is Burns' Night.
For those unfamiliar, Robbie Burns was a late 18th Century Scottish poet whose most familiar work is probably "Auld Lang Syne." After he died in 1796, several of his friends gathered the next year to remember him. Over the Centuries, that gathering has been repeated and expanded into an annual "Burns' Night Supper" in which all those with Scottish heritage (and those who wish they had) gather to eat haggis, drink single malt Scotch Whisky, and reflect upon the man and the work that was Robbie Burns.
I've been in Japan for three consecutive Burns' Nights now (January 25, his birthday) and have been missing the tradition (not many Scots in Japan). But, when I discussed the tradition with my housemate last year, he recommended a pub in Machida that included haggis on its menu. So, this year, I organized a low-key Burns Night Supper at that pub. My point in writing today is to share my toast to "The Immortal Memory" of Robbie Burns. I hope you find something in it to improve your day.
"Robbie Burns was poetic, political, and perhaps most importantly, Pictish (that is, Scottish).
Now, if you ask anybody, the Scots are known for one thing only....
Braveheart. :-D
Well, perhaps they are known for two things:
Haggis and Scotch Whisky. :-)
But, seriously, I think it is true to say that the Scots are known for two things: Bravely venturing far from their homes; and yet never truly leaving it behind.
As a result, the Scots/Irish have left their indelible mark all over the world.
For example, even here in Japan, we have...
MacDonald's. :-D
But, truly, the Scots/Irish have been responsible for many advances in World Exploration and Science, and in Politics and the Arts.
Perhaps it is due to the Centuries of living the harsh life that results from existing in a rocky and mountainous and unforgiving land, that always seemed to be at the fringes of a greater empire like Rome or England. Ths is not unlike the history of the people among which I now live. As Japan too is a mountainous and unforgiving land, seemingly always at the fringes of the Mongol Golden Horde, or China.
For both the Japanese, and the Scots/Irish, living always at the fine edge of survival, perhaps the generations were able to build a shared cultural understanding of the necessity to be aware of, respect, and love the land and environment that both supported and also challenged their daily existence. And also to be aware of, respect, and love the friends and families that performed the same.
This is something that connects all of us with each other, and with Robbie Burns.
Many of us here tonight (and reading this blog) have left our native home lands to live, or to work, or to explore. And we share that same awareness, respect, and love of both nature and our fellow humans, whether in our work, or in our hobbies, or in both.
So, tonight, I ask us all to raise our glass in a toast to the author who, in a short lifetime, was able to put to words the feelings and yearnings of a nation, and also the feelings and yearnings of all of us here tonight.
Sláinte!"
For those unfamiliar, Robbie Burns was a late 18th Century Scottish poet whose most familiar work is probably "Auld Lang Syne." After he died in 1796, several of his friends gathered the next year to remember him. Over the Centuries, that gathering has been repeated and expanded into an annual "Burns' Night Supper" in which all those with Scottish heritage (and those who wish they had) gather to eat haggis, drink single malt Scotch Whisky, and reflect upon the man and the work that was Robbie Burns.
I've been in Japan for three consecutive Burns' Nights now (January 25, his birthday) and have been missing the tradition (not many Scots in Japan). But, when I discussed the tradition with my housemate last year, he recommended a pub in Machida that included haggis on its menu. So, this year, I organized a low-key Burns Night Supper at that pub. My point in writing today is to share my toast to "The Immortal Memory" of Robbie Burns. I hope you find something in it to improve your day.
"Robbie Burns was poetic, political, and perhaps most importantly, Pictish (that is, Scottish).
Now, if you ask anybody, the Scots are known for one thing only....
Braveheart. :-D
Well, perhaps they are known for two things:
Haggis and Scotch Whisky. :-)
But, seriously, I think it is true to say that the Scots are known for two things: Bravely venturing far from their homes; and yet never truly leaving it behind.
As a result, the Scots/Irish have left their indelible mark all over the world.
For example, even here in Japan, we have...
MacDonald's. :-D
But, truly, the Scots/Irish have been responsible for many advances in World Exploration and Science, and in Politics and the Arts.
Perhaps it is due to the Centuries of living the harsh life that results from existing in a rocky and mountainous and unforgiving land, that always seemed to be at the fringes of a greater empire like Rome or England. Ths is not unlike the history of the people among which I now live. As Japan too is a mountainous and unforgiving land, seemingly always at the fringes of the Mongol Golden Horde, or China.
For both the Japanese, and the Scots/Irish, living always at the fine edge of survival, perhaps the generations were able to build a shared cultural understanding of the necessity to be aware of, respect, and love the land and environment that both supported and also challenged their daily existence. And also to be aware of, respect, and love the friends and families that performed the same.
This is something that connects all of us with each other, and with Robbie Burns.
Many of us here tonight (and reading this blog) have left our native home lands to live, or to work, or to explore. And we share that same awareness, respect, and love of both nature and our fellow humans, whether in our work, or in our hobbies, or in both.
So, tonight, I ask us all to raise our glass in a toast to the author who, in a short lifetime, was able to put to words the feelings and yearnings of a nation, and also the feelings and yearnings of all of us here tonight.
Sláinte!"
Sunday, January 21, 2018
Life, Liberty, and Solidarity
This past weekend saw millions of people demonstrating in support of equitable treatment for all human beings. On Sunday, the second annual Women's March was held, both in Washington and in cities nationwide, calling attention to the inequities in how our current society teats with women, shining a light on the many ways that women are often demeaned in our shared culture. On Saturday, the 45th annual Right to Life March was held in Washington DC (in some cities nationwide, local marches were held the previous weekend, calling attention to inequities in how our current society teats with its most vulnerable members: the unborn, the disabled, and the unwell, shining a light on a throwaway culture that is increasingly viewing a human's life not as intrinsically valuable, but only valuable in terms of its utility to society.
That so many people are energized to stand up to speak out against these inequities should be a source of great pride in the human condition. However, it saddens me to reflect on the fact that a great number of the people marching at one of these two events this weekend would not want to be caught dead at the other. But, as I mentioned at my outset, both of these movements have at their hearts a common desire to see that all human beings are treated with equal dignity.
Movements like that embodied by the Women's March stem partly from a reaction to the lingering view in our society that there are clear and specific roles for both men and women to play. At a time when child mortality rates were so high that a family size approaching double digits was the only was to ensure a fully functional farm, or a reliable retirement residence, this view proved to be beneficial in the long term. But, in an era of negative population growth, this is less of a survival requirement and more of a personal choice. Let us all stand in solidarity with those women whom have for too long been treated as objects rather than as human beings.
Movements like that embodied by the Right to Life March stem partly from a reaction to the growing view in our society that a human is only worthwhile insofar as that human has value to society. Hence, minorities, the poor, and immigrants all are ignored at best; labeled as parasites of government largess at worst. Hence, unexpectedly or imperfectly conceived children (that is, afflicted with genetic or physical abnormality) are discarded. In an era when the harm done by treating our natural environment as a consumable quantity, it is hard to understand how we treat our fellow humans as equally disposable. Let us all stand in solidarity with those children whom have for too long been treated as possessions rather than as human beings.
The Right to Life March and the Women's March both stand forth proudly, championing the rights upon which this nation was founded nearly 250 years ago. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all [humans] are created equal, that they are endowed ... with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." That is, that all human beings, regardless of their perceived worth to society (which is always in a state of flux), have a right to live their lives, and to determine for themselves what their role in the Universe will be. These two movements share so much in common at their fundamental level, representing as they do the right to life and the right to liberty. It seems poetic justice that they now seemed destined to be held every year in the same weekend.
Yet, today, the proponents of the Right to Life March largely identify themselves as Republican, while the proponents of the Women's March largely identify themselves as Democrat. Both parties claim to be the champion for human dignity, following the separate arguments above; but truthfully, neither Party can own that mantle. For all the good policy that the Democratic Party follows in supporting many disadvantaged populations, a person who truly believes that every human being possesses an intrinsic, unalienable dignity cannot simply close one's eyes and ears to the disproportional rates at which minorities, the poor, and the disabled are aborted. For all the Pro-Life policy in the Republican Party platform, a person who truly believes that every human being possesses an intrinsic, unalienable dignity cannot simply close one's eyes and ears to the refugees, the immigrants (legal or not), and the poor who are left with little or no help to survive and advance in this "great" country.
The truth is, neither the Democratic Party nor the Republican Party care a whit about human dignity, life, liberty, or the pursuit of happiness. The newest government shutdown demonstrates this point yet again. Both sides have been more interested in playing their political pawns for votes in the next election, than they have been interested in sitting down and arriving at a solution, however flawed, however compromised.
But, there is a growing political Party out there that does recognize the intrinsic, unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, that all humans possess. It is called the American Solidarity Party, and I encourage you to check them out (https://solidarity-party.org/)
That so many people are energized to stand up to speak out against these inequities should be a source of great pride in the human condition. However, it saddens me to reflect on the fact that a great number of the people marching at one of these two events this weekend would not want to be caught dead at the other. But, as I mentioned at my outset, both of these movements have at their hearts a common desire to see that all human beings are treated with equal dignity.
Movements like that embodied by the Women's March stem partly from a reaction to the lingering view in our society that there are clear and specific roles for both men and women to play. At a time when child mortality rates were so high that a family size approaching double digits was the only was to ensure a fully functional farm, or a reliable retirement residence, this view proved to be beneficial in the long term. But, in an era of negative population growth, this is less of a survival requirement and more of a personal choice. Let us all stand in solidarity with those women whom have for too long been treated as objects rather than as human beings.
Movements like that embodied by the Right to Life March stem partly from a reaction to the growing view in our society that a human is only worthwhile insofar as that human has value to society. Hence, minorities, the poor, and immigrants all are ignored at best; labeled as parasites of government largess at worst. Hence, unexpectedly or imperfectly conceived children (that is, afflicted with genetic or physical abnormality) are discarded. In an era when the harm done by treating our natural environment as a consumable quantity, it is hard to understand how we treat our fellow humans as equally disposable. Let us all stand in solidarity with those children whom have for too long been treated as possessions rather than as human beings.
The Right to Life March and the Women's March both stand forth proudly, championing the rights upon which this nation was founded nearly 250 years ago. "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all [humans] are created equal, that they are endowed ... with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." That is, that all human beings, regardless of their perceived worth to society (which is always in a state of flux), have a right to live their lives, and to determine for themselves what their role in the Universe will be. These two movements share so much in common at their fundamental level, representing as they do the right to life and the right to liberty. It seems poetic justice that they now seemed destined to be held every year in the same weekend.
Yet, today, the proponents of the Right to Life March largely identify themselves as Republican, while the proponents of the Women's March largely identify themselves as Democrat. Both parties claim to be the champion for human dignity, following the separate arguments above; but truthfully, neither Party can own that mantle. For all the good policy that the Democratic Party follows in supporting many disadvantaged populations, a person who truly believes that every human being possesses an intrinsic, unalienable dignity cannot simply close one's eyes and ears to the disproportional rates at which minorities, the poor, and the disabled are aborted. For all the Pro-Life policy in the Republican Party platform, a person who truly believes that every human being possesses an intrinsic, unalienable dignity cannot simply close one's eyes and ears to the refugees, the immigrants (legal or not), and the poor who are left with little or no help to survive and advance in this "great" country.
The truth is, neither the Democratic Party nor the Republican Party care a whit about human dignity, life, liberty, or the pursuit of happiness. The newest government shutdown demonstrates this point yet again. Both sides have been more interested in playing their political pawns for votes in the next election, than they have been interested in sitting down and arriving at a solution, however flawed, however compromised.
But, there is a growing political Party out there that does recognize the intrinsic, unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, that all humans possess. It is called the American Solidarity Party, and I encourage you to check them out (https://solidarity-party.org/)
Sunday, December 31, 2017
My Christmas Adventure, Concluded
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| If someone told me they'd try this climb in these shoes, I'd consider taking bets on their survival. |
For most purposes, as long as I am careful they are adequate for most hikes: I did climb Mount Fuji in these, after all, and the only complaint I had was the accumulation of cinder dust on the way down because they are slip-ons. But, climbing shoes they are not, and I now am in a pickle.
It began with a series of ladder steps drilled into the rock face, and then transitions to a dual rope and chain above that. Knowing the cost of returning the way I came: trying to descend that previous rock face, I decide the only reasonable course of action is to proceed upward. So I climb again. However, when I reach the break between the ladder and the rope, I find that the last foothold is not large enough for my shoe. Not only would descending require figuring out the previous climb in reverse, I now would have to climb down this rock in reverse and unseeing, knowing that the bottom step is a very big one, and the ledge very short. And the wind we saw earlier on the slopes of Mt Fuji is beginning to pick up here now, as well.
Just above the end of the rope ahead is tied a plate of metal so that each time I tug on the end, I hear the sound of metal clanging against rock. It is the same sound you'll hear whenever an American Western movie shows its heroes approaching an abandoned ranch in the rocky desert. And as every fan of such movies knows, that sound is the sound of pending death.
I did not take a photograph of that metal plate while clinging to that rock.
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| Again, yes, that is the trail; look for the rope |
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| The sky shrine (Tenjin) for which the mountain is named. |
At the top, I saw where the "forest course (林間コース)" would have brought me. It looks tame here, but I wonder how that adventure would have fared? I'm beginning to worry about daylight, because I still have not yet reached the destination of this path, and the afternoon Sun is hanging low (and I am in the mountains, so I know that sunset comes early here). Fortunately, I do not have far to go before I reach the next landmark, the peak of Mt. Tenjin (天神山, heaven spirit mountain). This is an unassuming peak on which I decide to have lunch, before heading downhill less than a hundred meters to find a tiny shrine, about the size of a dog house. I wonder if it is here for people to give thanks to the local kami for having survived the trail this far. The shrine itself looks like it has been here a while, but the placard inside dates to just 2010.
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| Looking back from the top of 稚児落し |
The return trip descends rapidly, and I quickly find myself on a trail emptying out into someone's back yard. The rest of the route takes me through the outlying districts of Otsuki, which I spend a little time exploring in the fading light. Upon my return, however, I investigate the name of the place I had just visited and discover its dark origins.
The rock formation was called chigo-otoshi (稚児落し). Google translate tells me this means "baby dropping." And, checking each of the kanji individually makes it hard to dispute this. (稚) = Young; (児) = Child, (落) = Fall, while (落し) is translated as dropping. I can only guess that this is a place where unwanted children were tossed to their deaths because the family thought them unsupportable. And, considering the difficulty of the path, perhaps this place was chosen because you had to really, really want to be rid of a child to carry him or her through that obstacle course to be tossed from that sickening height. I can't imagine wanting that badly to kill a child, to go through so much effort to deny another human being even the chance to make his or her own life choices, regardless of the difficulty of that life.
And it struck even deeper for me, because I had gone on this hike on Christmas Day, which celebrates the birth of a baby who was by legal definition at that time and place, unsupportable. I imagined Mary and Joseph, immediately after the birth of Jesus, carrying him to this precipice and hurling him off because Jewish law at the time declared that such a child conceived out of wedlock was unclean. I also thought about a close friend who lost a close friend to suicide this month. And, about how I considered how easy it would be on this trail I was on for someone to take two or three steps and depart this life. And, how easy it must seem for many who are struggling with their demons to take those few steps. But also, how hard it must have been for them to have gotten to that point; the obstacles they had already overcome.
Though, perhaps another way to look at it is to recognize that all of life is little more than a series of challenges, some much more daunting than others, some coming upon us very unexpectedly. Much as I had expected a challenging hike, but nothing like the bouldering exercise for which I was ill-equipped. There were plenty of opportunities to turn back, or -- more darkly -- to step into the abyss, but we keep moving forward to see what challenges and rewards still await us and those we know and love. In the end, it seems to come down to how you mentally approach each of these challenges. Do we see prepare for them, or respond to them; do we see them as insurmountable barriers to our success, or challenges that make us stronger, or wiser? Do we see adversity as a murderous mountain (as the beautiful but imposing view of Fuji-san at the beginning of my hike), or as a jovial challenge to become a better person (as the Winter Illumination art near Otsuki station at the end of my hike)?
Saturday, December 30, 2017
My Christmas Adventure
As I mentioned in my previous post; I was feeling a bit glum around Christmastime this year. So, I had determined to ignore the fact that the day was not a holiday here, and instead do some 森林浴
(shinrin yoku, or "forest bathing") with a trek in the woods north of the little mountain town of Otsuki (大月, literally 'big moon' -- or 'big month,' I'll go with Moon).
A friend of mine had suggested the trail; I had been through the area a few times before, on my way to 富士山 (Mt. Fuji), so I expected a fun hike. The weather was expected to be outstanding as well (for a hike, not for Christmas Day) with clear skies and an anticipated high of over 60 degrees Fahrenheit.
I got started a little later than I had hoped; but discovered a larger problem when I realized about halfway though my (nearly two-hour) train journey, that while I had remembered to pack food and water and a spare jacket, I had forgotten to pack the map showing the trail! No problem, I thought. I have my smartphone with GPS and maps, and since the Sun will be up, I'll always have a good point of reference. What's the worst that could happen? (Note to reader: if you ever find yourself saying or hearing or thinking this, just stop everything you are doing, and re-consider your life choices).
Having arrived at the station, I could not find a tourist or visitor center (that would have maps), but I did find some helpful maps on the walls of the station, so I photographed them and set on my way. I began by climbing 岩殿山 (Mt. Iwatono: translates as "rock building" or "rock fort"), seen here (right) from near the station:
At the first overlook of the climb, I was already rewarded with this (below) view of 富士山. Absolutely spectacular, even with the direct sun making contrasts poor. I had hiked up 富士山 just this summer; I don't know whether it is true, but I've been told that more people die climbing 富士山 in Winter than those who successfully summit in Winter. Looking at it from this distance, I can understand. Continuous and steep snow fields that are clearly icy (based on the bright specular reflection on the eastern -- left-hand -- slope in the photo), and evidence of very strong winds both near the base and at the summit.
Onward and upward, I reached the grounds of a former temple (according to outside descriptions), which now appears to serve as a tour guide. However, it is off-season and the office is closed. Fortunately, there are maps available outside, and so I stock up on anything that looks as though it will show me the course I expect to follow. I climb to the top along a fairly steep trail (I am soon to learn the true meaning of "steep," and this ain't it), reaching the summit of 634m (2080 feet). Little did I suspect at the time that this visit to the highest point (right) on my planned route would be the easiest part of the journey.
I descended quickly (is there any other way when the average grade is
approaching 50%?) to the fork in the trail that took me along the loop trail
that was my plan for the rest of the afternoon. First, (see below photograph) I waited to
hear this friendly Ent tell me the history of the People of the Valley. Fortunately, it is not a very important history, so it did not take very long to say. That town in the next valley is called Kamihamakura (上畑倉), which blandly translates as "upper warehouse."
A few hundred meters along, the following sign tells me that the trail is out due to a recent landslide (photo below left). Fortunately, a detour is provided... to just above the top of the landslide. It has been dry recently, so this should be safe. Up, over, down, and back on my way. This is getting to be a fun little adventure.
But then I come across this (photo on right). Now, I was told by my friend that this route was "interesting" for its rope-assisted trekking. Well, here, I seemed to find it. Turns out the rope was more useful as a crutch than as a support, as I was able to scramble up this climb quite readily without using the rope. I suppose I would have relied on it more if I were descending. But, if that is the worst that could happen (there it is again, life would be so much easier if it played the "dun-dun-dunnnnn" soundtrack of pending doom every time someone had that thought), then this hike will be a blast.
After some time along the ridge, I come to another fork in the road. Here are my choices:
This time, I can read enough kanji to learn that the "forest route" (林間:left) is sending me down a slight slope (but really, just along the side of the mountain), while the クサリ場 (right), which seems to translate either as "cursory trail" or "squirrel trail" (my Japanese friends later tell me it means "chain route"), continues upward. The forest trail has a rope for security; but it is not very taut, and the heavy blanket of fallen Autumn leaves makes it almost impossible to detect the vanishingly small trail that I assume exists parallel to the rope. It is also several hundred feet down a very steep (in excess of 60 degrees) and wooded slope if I should lose contact with the ground. As much as I'd like to continue my 森林浴 actually in the forest (森林), I decide to take the squirrel/chain route over the rocks. What could possibly go wrong?
This must be what my friend meant when he told me about the places where ropes were needed to continue on the trail. If you look carefully, the photo on the right was from the top of the climb, so I successfully topped out over that small cliff. Well, at least that's over with and now I can enjoy the rest of the trail peacefully. Which is what I think until I reach the next vertical climb.
This climb begins with the traverse you see at left, is much longer than the previous, and whose top I cannot see from the base. Holding on to the dual metal rails bolted into place as I traverse to the rock is not a problem, though I would have liked to have seen the view over the valley. I reach the rock face, and there are again ropes, and now chains, making me wonder if I've just entered somebody's sick S&M fantasy world. Glutton for punishment, I surely am.
You know, this post is getting rather long. I think I'll break it up into two segments.
(How's that for a literal cliff hanger?) :-D
(shinrin yoku, or "forest bathing") with a trek in the woods north of the little mountain town of Otsuki (大月, literally 'big moon' -- or 'big month,' I'll go with Moon).
A friend of mine had suggested the trail; I had been through the area a few times before, on my way to 富士山 (Mt. Fuji), so I expected a fun hike. The weather was expected to be outstanding as well (for a hike, not for Christmas Day) with clear skies and an anticipated high of over 60 degrees Fahrenheit.
I got started a little later than I had hoped; but discovered a larger problem when I realized about halfway though my (nearly two-hour) train journey, that while I had remembered to pack food and water and a spare jacket, I had forgotten to pack the map showing the trail! No problem, I thought. I have my smartphone with GPS and maps, and since the Sun will be up, I'll always have a good point of reference. What's the worst that could happen? (Note to reader: if you ever find yourself saying or hearing or thinking this, just stop everything you are doing, and re-consider your life choices).
 |
| Mt. Iwatono from Ostuki Station |
Having arrived at the station, I could not find a tourist or visitor center (that would have maps), but I did find some helpful maps on the walls of the station, so I photographed them and set on my way. I began by climbing 岩殿山 (Mt. Iwatono: translates as "rock building" or "rock fort"), seen here (right) from near the station:
 |
| Fuji-san from Maruyama on the slopes of Iwatono |
At the first overlook of the climb, I was already rewarded with this (below) view of 富士山. Absolutely spectacular, even with the direct sun making contrasts poor. I had hiked up 富士山 just this summer; I don't know whether it is true, but I've been told that more people die climbing 富士山 in Winter than those who successfully summit in Winter. Looking at it from this distance, I can understand. Continuous and steep snow fields that are clearly icy (based on the bright specular reflection on the eastern -- left-hand -- slope in the photo), and evidence of very strong winds both near the base and at the summit.
 |
| The summit of Iwatono-san |
 |
| The town of kamihamakura (上畑倉). |
 |
| Trail closed due to landslide |
A few hundred meters along, the following sign tells me that the trail is out due to a recent landslide (photo below left). Fortunately, a detour is provided... to just above the top of the landslide. It has been dry recently, so this should be safe. Up, over, down, and back on my way. This is getting to be a fun little adventure.
 |
| Climbing gear required from here on? |
After some time along the ridge, I come to another fork in the road. Here are my choices:
 |
| Yes, that is really the trail |
This must be what my friend meant when he told me about the places where ropes were needed to continue on the trail. If you look carefully, the photo on the right was from the top of the climb, so I successfully topped out over that small cliff. Well, at least that's over with and now I can enjoy the rest of the trail peacefully. Which is what I think until I reach the next vertical climb.
This climb begins with the traverse you see at left, is much longer than the previous, and whose top I cannot see from the base. Holding on to the dual metal rails bolted into place as I traverse to the rock is not a problem, though I would have liked to have seen the view over the valley. I reach the rock face, and there are again ropes, and now chains, making me wonder if I've just entered somebody's sick S&M fantasy world. Glutton for punishment, I surely am.
You know, this post is getting rather long. I think I'll break it up into two segments.
(How's that for a literal cliff hanger?) :-D
Monday, December 25, 2017
Christmas Reflection 2017
I've never done this before, and I can't promise that I will again; but this Christmas was far removed from the usual for me, and that may have played a role in what you're about to read.
Like many people, I was beginning to feel a bit glum during the run-up to Christmas. Especially in the last few days. For the first time ever, I was overseas on Christmas, in a country (Japan) that, although it celebrates the day, does not really celebrate Christmas. For example, 25 December is not a holiday, I skipped work today to celebrate Christmas in my own little way (more on that in a later post). And because I am overseas, for only the second time in my life I am not in my hometown visiting with friends and family on Christmas. The first time, was the result of a blizzard in Colorado, and I was thankful to be stranded in my home rather than on a bus or in the airport, as very easily could have been the case. This time, it was by work and by (difficult) choice.
So, I was already a little down when I went to a Christmas party with friends here on Saturday night. Instead of lifting my spirits, I began to feel even more morose. I thought I would be gathering with several people who, like me, missed their friends and family, but wanted to make the most of a difficult situation by holding a party. But it seemed to me that nobody there gave a second thought for their families, whether they lived thousands of miles away, or a few train stations away. In fact, in talking with many, they seemed almost relieved to be free of their families and would not have wanted to be anywhere else just then, as I wanted to be. At least, that is how it seemed to me at the time.
I decided to go to Christmas Eve Vigil Mass in the evening at the Franciscan Center in Roppongi. The Christmas Mass was a typical Christmas Eve Mass: many over-excited children, many people who are a little disoriented because this may be the only time of the year they see the inside of a church, standing room only (see previous). Not that any of this truly bothered me: it's the most exciting night of the year for these children, even the most angelic would be fidgety in these circumstances; the people who had not been here since last Christmas, at least they are here today and maybe they'll be inspired to come back again next week and continue to strengthen their faith -- journeys of a thousand miles, single steps, and all that; and I had arrived 20 minutes before Mass began, so I at least had a seat! ;-) But, I think because it was so familiar, it had a deeper effect on me. I felt both comforted by the familiarity, but pushed deeper into my malaise by the glaring omission of what had been so familiar for every other Christmas. It was almost like I was living out the closing scene from "It's a Wonderful Life," but in a darker world: "This is what Christmas would be like without you... nothing has changed."
Then I heard the fellow sitting behind me telling his neighbor that he was a recent convert to Catholicism. That he had met a young priest in Las Cruces, went to Mass the following Sunday, and then over the next few years decided to enroll in RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults). This caused my ears to prick up because I sometimes have business in Las Cruces (at New Mexico State University), and had been to the very parish he mentioned on several occasions. Four thousand miles from home, and I'm now seated three feet away from someone who quite possibly heard the same Homily and Mass that I did a year ago when I last visited Las Cruces. What are the odds? Then, I notice another familiar face. A NASA representative with whom I had finally formally met just three days prior after months of trying to line up schedules, walks by and says, "Hello." I begin to wonder whether I have found the twilight zone.
The Christmas Mass is a joyful one, partly because of what we celebrate, but partly because we Catholics had just spent the previous four weeks in a Penitential Season preparing ourselves for this celebration. Many exceptionally festive parts of the Mass are either skipped or subdued during that time, which makes them all the more noticeable when they return. And, because of this, I am feeling a little better. But I am also a people-watcher (by default, I can't help it), and I can see the children at Mass getting more and more antsy, and their parents bravely keeping them under control, but becoming more and more exasperated. I hope none of the parents felt embarrassed, they were fighting a losing battle; I'm glad they found the strength to chose to fight that battle in public and partake of this Mass, rather than choose the easy path to stay home.
But then after Communion, something strange happens. The little girl with the family seated next to me, who has been becoming increasingly animated throughout Mass, needs to fix her shoe. She stops bouncing around, reaches up and grabs my hand to steady herself as she reaches with her other hand to re-seat her fluffy boot. Her mother is very apologetic, but I don't mind. This interaction causes me think about my niece who is about the same age. And I feel that, just for a moment, that little girl invited me into her family. Because, what is family, if not a group of people you can always count on to lend a hand? And, a group of people who always seem to need a hand!
And that got me to thinking about what I think is one of the most beautiful doctrines of the Catholic Church: the Church Triumphant, Penitent, and Militant. The first two are those in Heaven and in Purgatory, and all those here on Earth, struggling every day in battles against evil, are the Church Militant. All three are part of the family that is the Church. And, more importantly, the Church Militant truly means all of humanity, for while we may have some disagreements about what specifically constitutes evil, I think we all believe we are motivated to eliminate or minimize that evil. That means everyone in this churchroom today is my family. Everyone at that party the other night is my family. Everyone here in Japan, even those who seem to completely miss the point of Christmas, they are my family. The people you've been in a political tussle with, they are your family. The jerk who just cut you off on the road is your family. Even those we've "disowned," they are our family. And, here I am, singing "Silent Night" on Christmas Eve, just as I would have been back home, with a group of people who, though imperfect like me, have chosen to be here, with the rest of their extended human family, for this hour, on this holy yet hectic night. And, truly, I had to hold back a tear.
Of course, I still missed the family and friends back home whom I wanted to see. But, I suddenly realized that even though I have never seen many of these people around me before in my life -- and maybe never will again -- I have a family with me here tonight. From the little girl who reminded me of my niece, to my colleague with whom I may be working over the coming months, to the fellow from down the road, to hundreds of others from literally around the world.
And I think it was not just me feeling this connection. I noticed that as the priest began the final blessing, he began to speak a few words to the congregation. His voice broke as he could barely get his words out, "Thank you all for coming. It is truly wonderful to see so many people here tonight to come to this church and celebrate this special night with us and each other." He then was able to collect himself to add both jokingly and in all seriousness, "We do this every week; if you enjoyed this, please come and see us again next Sunday!"
Like many people, I was beginning to feel a bit glum during the run-up to Christmas. Especially in the last few days. For the first time ever, I was overseas on Christmas, in a country (Japan) that, although it celebrates the day, does not really celebrate Christmas. For example, 25 December is not a holiday, I skipped work today to celebrate Christmas in my own little way (more on that in a later post). And because I am overseas, for only the second time in my life I am not in my hometown visiting with friends and family on Christmas. The first time, was the result of a blizzard in Colorado, and I was thankful to be stranded in my home rather than on a bus or in the airport, as very easily could have been the case. This time, it was by work and by (difficult) choice.
So, I was already a little down when I went to a Christmas party with friends here on Saturday night. Instead of lifting my spirits, I began to feel even more morose. I thought I would be gathering with several people who, like me, missed their friends and family, but wanted to make the most of a difficult situation by holding a party. But it seemed to me that nobody there gave a second thought for their families, whether they lived thousands of miles away, or a few train stations away. In fact, in talking with many, they seemed almost relieved to be free of their families and would not have wanted to be anywhere else just then, as I wanted to be. At least, that is how it seemed to me at the time.
I decided to go to Christmas Eve Vigil Mass in the evening at the Franciscan Center in Roppongi. The Christmas Mass was a typical Christmas Eve Mass: many over-excited children, many people who are a little disoriented because this may be the only time of the year they see the inside of a church, standing room only (see previous). Not that any of this truly bothered me: it's the most exciting night of the year for these children, even the most angelic would be fidgety in these circumstances; the people who had not been here since last Christmas, at least they are here today and maybe they'll be inspired to come back again next week and continue to strengthen their faith -- journeys of a thousand miles, single steps, and all that; and I had arrived 20 minutes before Mass began, so I at least had a seat! ;-) But, I think because it was so familiar, it had a deeper effect on me. I felt both comforted by the familiarity, but pushed deeper into my malaise by the glaring omission of what had been so familiar for every other Christmas. It was almost like I was living out the closing scene from "It's a Wonderful Life," but in a darker world: "This is what Christmas would be like without you... nothing has changed."
Then I heard the fellow sitting behind me telling his neighbor that he was a recent convert to Catholicism. That he had met a young priest in Las Cruces, went to Mass the following Sunday, and then over the next few years decided to enroll in RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults). This caused my ears to prick up because I sometimes have business in Las Cruces (at New Mexico State University), and had been to the very parish he mentioned on several occasions. Four thousand miles from home, and I'm now seated three feet away from someone who quite possibly heard the same Homily and Mass that I did a year ago when I last visited Las Cruces. What are the odds? Then, I notice another familiar face. A NASA representative with whom I had finally formally met just three days prior after months of trying to line up schedules, walks by and says, "Hello." I begin to wonder whether I have found the twilight zone.
The Christmas Mass is a joyful one, partly because of what we celebrate, but partly because we Catholics had just spent the previous four weeks in a Penitential Season preparing ourselves for this celebration. Many exceptionally festive parts of the Mass are either skipped or subdued during that time, which makes them all the more noticeable when they return. And, because of this, I am feeling a little better. But I am also a people-watcher (by default, I can't help it), and I can see the children at Mass getting more and more antsy, and their parents bravely keeping them under control, but becoming more and more exasperated. I hope none of the parents felt embarrassed, they were fighting a losing battle; I'm glad they found the strength to chose to fight that battle in public and partake of this Mass, rather than choose the easy path to stay home.
But then after Communion, something strange happens. The little girl with the family seated next to me, who has been becoming increasingly animated throughout Mass, needs to fix her shoe. She stops bouncing around, reaches up and grabs my hand to steady herself as she reaches with her other hand to re-seat her fluffy boot. Her mother is very apologetic, but I don't mind. This interaction causes me think about my niece who is about the same age. And I feel that, just for a moment, that little girl invited me into her family. Because, what is family, if not a group of people you can always count on to lend a hand? And, a group of people who always seem to need a hand!
And that got me to thinking about what I think is one of the most beautiful doctrines of the Catholic Church: the Church Triumphant, Penitent, and Militant. The first two are those in Heaven and in Purgatory, and all those here on Earth, struggling every day in battles against evil, are the Church Militant. All three are part of the family that is the Church. And, more importantly, the Church Militant truly means all of humanity, for while we may have some disagreements about what specifically constitutes evil, I think we all believe we are motivated to eliminate or minimize that evil. That means everyone in this churchroom today is my family. Everyone at that party the other night is my family. Everyone here in Japan, even those who seem to completely miss the point of Christmas, they are my family. The people you've been in a political tussle with, they are your family. The jerk who just cut you off on the road is your family. Even those we've "disowned," they are our family. And, here I am, singing "Silent Night" on Christmas Eve, just as I would have been back home, with a group of people who, though imperfect like me, have chosen to be here, with the rest of their extended human family, for this hour, on this holy yet hectic night. And, truly, I had to hold back a tear.
Of course, I still missed the family and friends back home whom I wanted to see. But, I suddenly realized that even though I have never seen many of these people around me before in my life -- and maybe never will again -- I have a family with me here tonight. From the little girl who reminded me of my niece, to my colleague with whom I may be working over the coming months, to the fellow from down the road, to hundreds of others from literally around the world.
And I think it was not just me feeling this connection. I noticed that as the priest began the final blessing, he began to speak a few words to the congregation. His voice broke as he could barely get his words out, "Thank you all for coming. It is truly wonderful to see so many people here tonight to come to this church and celebrate this special night with us and each other." He then was able to collect himself to add both jokingly and in all seriousness, "We do this every week; if you enjoyed this, please come and see us again next Sunday!"
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