Dreaming on a Train in Japan

Journeying swiftly through the hills,

a green country misted in secret forests

I rest my head against the window ...

 

Swirling leaves. Seasons churn past

Pines, maples, and a ripple of color sways

A wash of sunlight perfumed of flowers,

and chiming birdsong, rejoin the blue,

guiding a path shaded by bamboo.

 

I remember a distant temple of the summer

Paneled halls containing the wisdom of every epoch.

We learned from the bodhisattvas, and gods without name.

We listened to scriptures, and mantras chanted without words,

that polished the unmoving rock garden through centuries,

imbuing the shrine with prayers and golden resplendence.

So long ago, ... but always still here, ... now ...

Cedar and jasmine incense disperse in the wind ...

 

Deeper than the subconsciousness of mountains,

preceding karma, and beyond the wheel of transmigrations,

rests a memory, carried by the song she sang,

gentled by her undulating, white kimono,

embroidered with water threads, pink blossoms,

dappled with light as she dances,

swaying, merging further into the forests.

The rustling shimmering draws me on,

to cross the Sanzu, and Suijin Rivers ...

to the place of healing springs ...

 

I awaken, slowly, as if in my room, a world away.

But the train continues gliding through Miyagi,

on towards Iwate, and Aomori to the north

 

Her song fades, … but the destination is always near

 

Sun gleams off the mirrors of rice fields

A flock of birds rises into the sky