Conan the Praying Dog!!!

The week before the 沖縄全島エイサまつり (All-Island Eisa Festival) we drove down to Kannondo Temple to receive a blessing for our upcoming performance and to show proper filial piety to our ancestors.

Japan is not a religious place, in the sense that Westerners mean it, in fact, when Admiral Perry forced Japan to surrender its ports to Western ships he demanded that the Japanese also allow the traders to establish churches as they pleased and that freedom of religion by enacted. The Japanese had no idea what he meant, and so they had to create a word that meant religion in the sens that Westerners meant. To this day the Japanese do not believe themselves to be religious at all, but you will see nearly all Japanese people visiting Shinto shrines, praying in Buddhist temples, and even having Christian wedding ceremonies (albeit Christian in the most "Walt Disney Presents" manner, replete with Cinderella-Princess dress). That's because religion in the Western sense means a way of seeing the world that assumes that there is this world and then there is the more real, more perfect, Heavenly world where God(s) live.

In Japan, as most of East Asia, there is no other world in which you might find something divine. This world is perfectible according to the perfection of practices, i.e. meditation, chanting, etc. And so, when you visit Japan, you will see the red torii gates, the shimenawa (the hemp ropes tied around trees), the zig-zag paper called shide. You will see Buddhist temples and monks walking the streets in the morning silently asking for alms. And the history of Japan is a history of feuding Buddhist temples, of the Imperial Appropriation of Shinto for the justification of becoming a Colonial power (thanks to the Japanese being forced open they came to the West and realized they needed some of that opiate of the masses to get the common folk to die en masse for the Emperor just like the Pope in the Middle Ages).

But Okinawa is not Japanese in this way. Okinawa has a long tradition of women shamans that acted as mediums between a world of the dead and the forces of life and death. More prominently over the past several hundred years, the Ryukyu Kingdom ("Okinawa" before becoming a colony of Japan) looked almost completely to the great power in the region for the past millenia, China. From China the Ryukyuans learned statecraft, which meant they learned Confucianism. Confucianism holds as a central tenet the veneration of those that came before us, our ancestors; and this resonated with the (now) Okinawans. So into Confucianism were the Ryukyuans that the Chinese gave as a symbol of affection a plaque to hang above Shuruijo (the castle where the Ryukyuan Emperor lived) that says this is the land of perfected propriety, which is a high honor in the Confucian worldview.

And so the Okinawans never really built many Shinto shrines or Buddhist temples. When the Japanese formally colonized Okinawa in the 19th century they brought with them a real need for a Buddhist temple, but the only place that colonizing Japanese would want to live in this (to their minds at that time) backward place was the capital, Naha. And so today we have Kannondo* Temple where Conan the Praying Dog lives.
*Kannon is the Japanese name for the Chinese Guan Yin, or the Sanskrit Avalokitesvara, do just means (the/a/on) "path of-"

Kannondo is a Zen sect (apparently, according to the world news reports) and I am not surprised by this praying dog business because there is a classic Zen parable where a monk asked Master Joshu (as he is known in Japan):

"If there is no world beyond this one (no heavenly, or Nirvana state - Nirvana being a Hindu belief), then everything must be of the same nature as the Buddha. Do dogs have Buddha-nature?"
To which Joshu answered, "Mu," which is a negation but also not a negation.

This is a very famous koan that Zen students must consider as they develop their understanding of the Zen path. So, of course, Kannondo next to Shuri Castle will have a dog that prays, why not?

The monk who watches out for Conan (who is named, apparently, after Sir Conan Arthur Doyle, not the Barbarian, or Mr. O'Brian), was super nice to us and in exchange for translating a letter he received in English from someone in India, he gave us some nice postcards which I will be sending out soon.

Here's the graphic evidence, you're moment of Zen, if you will:

We even made it onto Conan's personal webpage:
http://gasshouken.ti-da.net/

ぜんざい Zenzai!!!!

Zenzai is not an esoteric branch of Buddhism, it does not require you to contemplate a koan.

It simply requires that you enjoy the coolness that this Okinawan desert offers to beat the heat. But, I'm going describe something that you're going to think is repulsive. After moving here I realized that I know next to nothing about Japanese cuisine (even less about the rest of East Asian food) and maybe I understand why now: were you to write an article about it, no one in America would eat it.

Hell, look at sushi. I work with gaijin that, although they live here, refuse to eat sushi, because it's raw. I can't believe it.

Anyhow, this summer I've picked up another research project: finding the most delicious zenzai on the island. I'll let you know who the winner is later in the year.

So what is zenzai? Take a look:

Okinawan zenzai is made from shaved ice, little balls of mochi (which is a really sweet rice ball-type-cake), sometimes condensed milk (so sweet and yummy), and kidney beans that have been stewed in a sweet syrup.

I hadja until then, huh?
"Sweet kidney beans? Don't we make spicy chili in a tomato sauce out of kidney beans?"
Yeah, but you'll just have to trust me that zenzai is awesome. Below is my favorite zenzai recipe so far, from Blue Dog Cafe in Takahara, it features a coffee/cocoa base. Yummadumdum!

Cultural Differences

When my wife and I came for the interview here last year we saw a funny picture:

Yeah, a bumper sticker of a pot leaf that says, "DRUGS" oh those wacky teenaged Japanese!

But then when we moved here I saw it everywhere:



and then even in one of the conference rooms here at the Institute!

I started asking around and learned that the Japanese like this shape, they associate it with American "Cool Stuff." But they don't know what it means. Kinda like those Americans that get "Kanji" tattoos, where they think it says something like "Vicious" or "Fast" but it really says "Sushi."

The Amazing (& Delicious) Dragon Fruit

I moved here and was convinced by the phrase "sub-tropical environment" that I would be eating mangoes and papayas and all manner of delicious fruit all the time. But that's just not the case.

The soil of Okinawa just isn't that rich and the fresh water supply is not that consistent, apparently. So, the farmers have taken a very conservative approach to cultivating new crops: stick with what we know works-kind of thinking.

So, while mangoes do in fact grow here, they are quite expensive (like $60!) because they can be sold to the mainlanders on export very profitably.

What does grow here that is delicious and this summer is cheap and everywhere is the dragonfruit:

You split them down the middle to reveal something that looks like a beat and a potato with lots of seeds and super juicy:

cut this in half (so you've quartered the dragonfruit) and you should find that you can basically peel the fruit out of it's skin:

then dig in! Be aware that these things will stain so maybe use a utensil:


I'd been seeing what I thought were just enormous cacti in everyone's gardens this spring but now I know that they are the source of this delicious fruit:

all's I can say is おいしいそう! (oishii so, it looks delicious!)

Really Loud, Large Bugs

We have them in the South, too. But it seems like the (what I always thought were called cicadas) weren't this loud. Maybe it's 'cause we're all jammed in together and so the noise seems much closer.

Here there are two kinds of these bugs and they're locally known as semi and kuma(bear) semi.

Here are some Crocodilehunter-style videos of the wild life here in Okinawa:


and why not a video of this lizard, too?

Japanese Surfers

There's a scene in Lost in Translation where the character played by Bill Murray is at a party in Tokyo and he's just been told that his host likes to surf, "You surf?" That's how I felt too. I mean, surfing is, of course, really only done in a few places: Hawai`i, Australia, maybe Costa Rica, and then maybe Florida; I don't know. My understanding is that surfing only exists in these few places.

Then I moved to Okinawa and noticed that the locals really like surfing-related stuff. I figured it was due to being in a sub-tropical environment. But then, while in Kyoto, I was told that the owner of our guest house met many Japanese surfers in Bali and these surfers had begun their careers in Okinawa.

But whenever I went to the places where I thought I was told there was surfing I saw only placid ocean.

Then a tropical storm was in the region and the surf was up:

Obon=Eisa

So last week was Obon, like a Japanese Dia De Los Muertos, where the spirits of our ancestors return to us and we offer them food and drink and entertainment.

The offerings go on the family altar, usually some fruit and some rice (this is when you put your chopsticks in the rice sticking up), a glass of water and/or some sake (or awamori in our case).

The entertainment?

Eisa, of course.

We live in Okinawa City, which boasts the best Eisa teams in the country; so each section of the city (Goya, Takahara, Awase, etc.) has a team that goes through the neighboroods playing during Obon.

I was working on the last blog when I heard something, I opened the window and this is what I saw:

I grabbed my wife, who was recording another gorgeous song, and we ran downstairs to find the dancers. And what do you know? They came to us!




These teams rely on the patronage of the neighborhoods, so they will come around with a collections box. We live next to a conbini (convenience store) so we bought them a 6-pack of beer and a few liters of water and gave them Y1000 (we're not sure what we're supposed to give so this seemed to cover all the bases).

So, what happens when two Eisa teams meet while doing the rounds? Well, they have to battle, of course.

The two teams will face off where both teams have to try to maintain the rhythm (because although the songs are the same name, each group has a slight variation of the traditionals). If someone on your team gets off beat you lose and your whole team has to get out of the way and let the others through. To determine this a crowd is really necessary and so the teams really try hard to avoid heavily trafficked areas unless they think that they are rock-solid.

We went to the Goya neighborhood (near Koza Music Town) because we heard that the two best teams in Okinawa, Goya and Senda (spelling?), have a tradition on the last night of Obon of squaring off. On the way we saw these folks:

Yonabaru Rope Pull (Best Day Ever, 2.0)

So, we went down to Yonabaru to witness the 400 year old tradition of an all-city tug of war. I really wanted to see the big rope (that takes a year to make) and just take some pictures, maybe have a beer and that would be it, really. But I was wrong. It was much more than that.


First off, any where I go I will be singled-out and subsequently press-ganged into the affair. That's what I get for being 6'6" and so gaijin. (There's this one guy that renounced his American citizenship and has been writing editorials for years now in the Japanese newspapers about how unfairly he's treated in Japan for not being Japanese (looking). But, maybe I've been here for too short a time, I always feel welcome wherever I go in Okinawa and I can barely say, "my name is Paul, sorry my Japanese is so poor.") But I've digressed....

Yeah, just as I'm watching the guy giving the instructions on how to do this whole tug o' war thing (I had assumed this was a practiced team I was looking at), then I'm told that I need to put on this hachimaki (head band) and go pick up the rope for the parade through town.

I felt bad because the guy they paired me with was nearly a foot shorter than I and so he really couldn't carry the rope with me. There I am in the hot, hot sun in this procession with this enormous rope. The rope's so big that there are people standing on it, dressed in ancient ceremonial garb. All I can think is, "great, this guy's gonna get killed 'cause I drop the rope or I'm making the rope tilt too much." Meanwhile there are all these photographers and tourists coming up and taking pictures of this giant white guy carrying the rope being followed by a much smaller, slightly embarrassed Okinawan.

We get there and I'm freaked out: there are hundreds of people there waiting around and I know that we are to drop the rope by dropping the heavy logs that we've had propped on our shoulders to carry this enormous rope. I know that I have to be careful because they are going to throw the logs backwards (toward me) and then we are to start pulling as quickly and as hard as we can.

Somehow they are able (I still don't understand even though I was right there in the front) to thread the two loops together and then, completely by surprise to me, they start tossing the logs over their shoulders. I'm wearing flip flops and there are really big logs being thrown at me and I'm being bumrushed by the villagers as we being this all city tug o' war. I'm sorry there are no photos or videos of this singular experience, I am happy to report that I was not injured nor did I lose my flip flops. We won the first one, I didn't realize there would be a second one (including picking up the rope and threading them together again - even getting the people back up there on the rope!) and so the second one I was wiped out. But it's good because both sides got to win.

Then the second competition really gets going. Each side has a couple of standards on long poles with flowers. The musicians and dancers get everyone all frenzied up and the two sides see who can endure hoisting their standard up the longest. Crazy site.


At the end everyone takes a bit of the rope and puts it up at home or their business for goodluck for the next year.

We got some waters and drove to the 10,000 Eisa Dancers Parade in nearby Naha and that was pretty awesome. Then we went to an Okinawan restaurant and we ate the yummies like goya champaru (stirfried bitter melon with tofu) and mimiga (the skin of pig's ears), and listened to a guy play sanshin and sing the Okinawan standards, like "Haisai Ojisan (Hey Uncle)" and "Shima No Uta (Island Music)" and then we topped it off with my new favorite desert - Okinawan Zenzai, but that's another blog posting in itself. Before returning to our homes we made a night time visit to Shuri Jo, the ancient capital of the Ryukyu Kingdom. It was a beautiful site, all lit up at night.

EISA

So, my wife and I and some folks from the lab are participating in an EISA team and we've been practicing for about a month or so... and it rules.

This weekend we went down to (Yonabaru first, but that's the very next blog) Naha to see the end of the 10,000 Eisa dancers parade.

Eisa seems to have derived its name from a Buddhist chant and is celebrated at the end of the Obon festival as a "one last hurrah" for the ancestors. More at wikipedia.

So the original Eisa dances would have looked something like this:

This team is from Uruma City, where we work.

Okinawa has, over the last century, been developing a more and more energetic dance:


The central region of Okinawa Honto (the main Island) is really renowned for their Eisa teams, and so I feel really honored to represent Okinawa City in the Zento (All-Island) Eisa Festival at the end of August.

Typically the Eisa team will have the sanshin players and singers, big drummers (that's what I'm practicing), the smaller drums, dancers (female and male dances are slightly different), and then a clown-like character that whips everyone into a frenzy. We feel fortunate to be able to participate as usually women are not allowed to play drums and this is really more of a young man's event - oh, and usually no gaijin.

Where we practice is in an old folk's home and I really enjoy getting to practice in front of them because they get all jazzed up and start clapping and singing and I really feel like I'm participating in a deeper human community. I feel honored to welcome their ancestors for one last dance until they come next year. Even more profoundly, sometimes, I feel trusted, a deep trust that is easy to overlook maybe. Some of these folks can't leave their rooms, so they sit up in their beds and they dance and sing and clap. Maybe they will be the ancestors that will come next year during Obon. On the opposite of the spectrum, though are these little kids running around, also practicing these dances and the cycle is just really moving. That's when I feel the strongest need to show my ki-ai that's what all the shouting is about: it's the bellowing of the living, it's a connecting of the heart and the body and mind in an affirmative SAH and I feel so much more alive and grateful for that gift.

In my confucian studies I've come to understand that truth means something different, perhaps more, in a confucian world. What is true is behaving in a way that is true to those who have come before you (those you learn the Eisa dance from) and behaving in a way that can be trusted by those to come (the kids who watch us and practice what we do). And these practices really deeply resonate with me on this level, I feel like this is the most concrete expression of that definition of performative truth; and I feel more convinced that this is the notion of truth that more people should come to know and express.