Haiku Classic: May 4, 2025 -- A yellow you can taste

To hell with names,
this flower along the trail
is a yellow you can taste
--
James W. Hackett (1929-2015). From "Spring Mountains" Winter 2005. https://hacketthaiku.com/hacketthaiku/HaikuMountainSpring.html
Another version of this haiku exists: "The nameless flower / climbing this trail with me / is a yellow you can taste!" But I much prefer the version with "To hell with names"! Almost everything has a name. That is what we humans do -- try to categorize everything in order to understand the world in big brushstrokes and pigeonholes without needing to discover each and every entity anew whenever we encounter it. Such flowers will almost always will have a scientific name in Latin. Saying something is "nameless" usually just means we haven't been bothered to learn its name, and for a haiku poet that shows a lack of inquisitiveness, which is usually not what haiku poets lack! Not caring what the name is and interacting with those flowers face-to-face is far better. This is much like the philosophy of Zen Buddhism. What's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet! The synesthesia in this haiku experience, where stimulation of one sense (vision) has led to an involuntary experience in another sense (smell) also points to a Zen perception of the world, without preconceptions.
Pique your poetic interest with more Haiku in English here.

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Japan Today

08-06-2025

• Japan Today

On remote Nagasaki islands, a rare version of Christianity heads toward extinction

Masatsugu Tanimoto, a farmer and one of the few remaining Hidden Christians on Ikitsuki Island, hangs a scroll of the Virgin Mary and Jesus once secretly worshipped at his home on Ikitsuki Island in Nagasaki Prefecture, on April 27. By FOSTER KLUG, MARI YAMAGUCHI and MAYUKO ONO On this small island in rural Nagasaki, Japan's Hidden Christians gather to worship what they call the Closet God. In a special room about the size of a tatami mat is a scroll painting of a kimono-clad Asian woman. She looks like a Buddhist Bodhisattva holding a baby, but for the faithful, this is a concealed version of Mary and the baby Jesus. Another scroll shows a man wearing a kimono covered with camellias, an allusion to John the Baptist's beheading and martyrdom. There are other objects of worship from the days when Japan's Christians had to hide from vicious persecution, including a ceramic bottle of holy water from Nakaenoshima, an island where Hidden Christians were martyred in the 1620s. Little about the icons in the tiny, easy-to-miss room can be linked directly to Christianity — and that's the point. After emerging from cloistered isolation in 1865, following more than 200 years of violent harassment by Japan's insular warlord rulers, many of the formerly underground Christians converted to mainstream Catholicism. Some, however, continued to practice not the religion that 16th century foreign missionaries originally taught them, but the idiosyncratic, difficult to detect version they'd nurtured during centuries of clandestine cat-and-mouse with a brutal regime. On Ikitsuki and other remote sections of Nagasaki Prefecture, Hidden Christians still pray to these disguised objects. They still chant in a Latin that hasn't been widely used in centuries. And they still cherish a religion that directly links them to a time of samurai, shoguns and martyred missionaries and believers. Now, though, the Hidden Christians are dying out, and there is growing certainty that their unique version of Christianity will die with them. Almost all are now elderly, and as the young move away to cities or turn their backs on the faith, those remaining are desperate to preserve evidence of this offshoot of Christianity — and convey to the world what its loss will mean. 'At this point, I'm afraid we are going to be the last ones,' said Masatsugu Tanimoto, 68, one of the few who can still recite the Latin chants that his ancestors learned 400 years ago. 'It is sad to see this tradition end with our generation.' Christianity spread rapidly in 16th century Japan when Jesuit priests had spectacular success converting warlords and peasants alike, most especially on the southern main island of Kyushu, where the foreigners established trading ports in Nagasaki. Hundreds of thousands, by some estimates, embraced the religion. That changed after the shoguns began to see Christianity as a threat. The crackdown that followed in the early 17th century was fierce, with thousands killed and the remaining believers chased underground. As Japan opened up to foreign influence, a dozen Hidden Christians clad in kimono cautiously declared their faith, and their remarkable perseverance, to a French Catholic priest in March 1865 in Nagasaki city. Many became Catholics after Japan formally lifted the ban on Christianity in 1873. But others chose to stay Kakure Kirishitan (Hidden Christians), continuing to practice what their ancestors preserved during their days underground. Deep communal bond In interviews with The Associated Press, Hidden Christians spoke of a deep communal bond stemming from a time when a lapse could doom a practitioner or their neighbors. Hidden Christians were forced to hide all visible signs of their religion after the 1614 ban on Christianity and the expulsion of foreign missionaries. Households took turns hiding precious ritual objects and hosting the secret services that celebrated both faith and persistence. This still happens today, with the observance of rituals unchanged since the 16th century. The group leader in the Ikitsuki area is called Oji, which means father or elderly man in Japanese. Members take turns in the role, presiding over baptisms, funerals and ceremonies for New Year, Christmas and local festivals. Different communities worship different icons and have different ways of performing the rituals. In Sotome, for instance, people prayed to a statue of what they called Maria Kannon, a genderless Bodhisattva of mercy, as a substitute for Mary. In Ibaragi, where about 18,000 residents embraced Christianity in the 1580s, a lacquer bowl with a cross painted on it, a statue of the crucified Christ and an ivory statue of Mary were found hidden in what was called 'a box not to be opened.' Many Hidden Christians rejected Catholicism after the persecution ended because Catholic priests refused to recognize them as real Christians unless they agreed to be rebaptized and abandon the Buddhist altars that their ancestors used. 'They are very proud of what they and their ancestors have believed in' for hundreds of years, even at the risk of their lives, said Emi Mase-Hasegawa, a religion studies professor at J.F. Oberlin University in Tokyo. Tanimoto believes his ancestors continued the Hidden Christian traditions because becoming Catholic meant rejecting the Buddhism and Shintoism that had become a strong part of their daily lives underground. 'I'm not a Christian,' Tanimoto said. Even though some of their Latin chants focus on the Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ, their prayers are also meant to "ask our ancestors to protect us, to protect our daily lives,' he said. 'We are not doing this to worship Jesus or Mary. … Our responsibility is to faithfully carry on the way our ancestors had practiced.' Latin chants Hidden Christians' ceremonies often include the recitation of Latin chants, called Orasho. The Orasho comes from the original Latin or Portuguese prayers brought to Japan by 16th century missionaries. Recently on Ikitsuki, three men performed a rare Orasho. All wore dark formal kimonos and solemnly made the sign of the cross in front of their faces before starting their prayers — a mix of archaic Japanese and Latin. Tanimoto, a farmer, is the youngest of only four men who can recite Orasho in his community. As a child, he regularly saw men performing Orasho on tatami mats before an altar when neighbors gathered for funerals and memorials. About 40 years ago, in his mid-20s, he took Orasho lessons from his uncle so he could pray to the Closet God that his family has kept for generations. Tanimoto recently showed the AP a weathered copy of a prayer his grandfather wrote with a brush and ink, like the ones his ancestors had diligently copied from older generations. As he carefully turned the pages of the Orasho book, Tanimoto said he mostly understands the Japanese but not the Latin. It's difficult, he said, but 'we just memorize the whole thing.' Today, because funerals are no longer held at homes and younger people are leaving the island, Orasho is only performed two or three times a year. There are few studies of Hidden Christians so it's not clear how many still exist. There were an estimated 30,000 in Nagasaki, including about 10,000 in Ikitsuki, in the 1940s, according to government figures. But the last confirmed baptism ritual was in 1994, and some estimates say there are less than 100 Hidden Christians left on Ikitsuki. Hidden Christianity is linked to the communal ties that formed when Japan was a largely agricultural society. Those ties crumbled as the country modernized after WWII, with recent developments revolutionizing people's lives, even in rural Japan. The accompanying decline in the population of farmers and young people, along with women increasingly working outside of the home, has made it difficult to maintain the tight networks that nurtured Hidden Christianity. 'In a society of growing individualism, it is difficult to keep Hidden Christianity as it is,' said Shigeo Nakazono, the head of a local folklore museum who has researched and interviewed Hidden Christians for 30 years. Hidden Christianity has a structural weakness, he said, because there are no professional religious leaders tasked with teaching doctrine and adapting the religion to environmental changes. Nakazono has started collecting artifacts and archiving video interviews he's done with Hidden Christians since the 1990s, seeking to preserve a record of the endangered religion. Mase-Hasegawa agreed that Hidden Christianity is on its way to extinction. 'As a researcher, it will be a huge loss,' she said. Masashi Funabara, 63, a retired town hall official, said most of the nearby groups have disbanded over the last two decades. His group, which now has only two families, is the only one left, down from nine in his district. They meet only a few times a year. 'The amount of time we are responsible for these holy icons is only about 20 to 30 years, compared to the long history when our ancestors kept their faith in fear of persecution. When I imagined their suffering, I felt that I should not easily give up,' Funabara said. Just as his father did when memorizing the Orasho, Funabara has written down passages in notebooks; he hopes his son, who works for the local government, will one day agree to be his successor. Tanimoto also wants his son to keep the tradition alive. 'Hidden Christianity itself will go extinct sooner or later, and that is inevitable, but I hope it will go on at least in my family,' he said. 'That's my tiny glimmer of hope.' Tokyo photographer Eugene Hoshiko contributed to this story. © Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed without permission.

Japan Today

01-06-2025

• Japan Today

As a society we seethe with irritation: What can we do about it?

By Michael Hoffman Come, let's be frank with one another: what irritates you? This person, that thing, this situation, that sound – oh, that sound, that grating sound! 'We're losing control of our emotions,' writes psychiatrist Hideki Wada in a booklet, published by President Books, titled 'How to Cultivate an Unemotional Heart.' 'Emotional' is a literal but somewhat misleading rendering of kanjoteki, whose meaning here seems to be 'prone to' or 'vulnerable to irritation' – which emotion, together with its kissing cousin, anger, are corrosive, physiologically (they weaken the immune system ) and psychologically (they make us miserable). Who wouldn't be free of them, if they would but free us? They won't. 'Anger is the emotion that surges most readily in us,' writes Wada – 'more than happiness, more than sadness. Moreover, anger is the emotion that translates most readily into action' – to our ultimate chagrin if not ruin, for actions performed and words uttered in anger are seldom well chosen and often blow up in our faces. It so happens that as I write this my neighbor across the lane is attacking his lawn (and me) with one of those unmuffled naked-motor grass-cutting blades that raise the most head-splitting, soul-crushing racket – disturbing him, it seems, not at all, which is odd, given what it's doing to me. There he is, calm personified in the eye of the storm, the very picture of leisured serenity, you'd almost think he was in Zen meditation, so unhurried are his movements, and as for progress, that hardly seems to be the goal at all, so little is he making. Curious enlightenment. Advise me, Dr Wada! (You are right: anger surges very readily indeed.) What should I do: Go out and give him a dose of my rage? Oh, the pleasure it would give me to jolt him rudely out of his trance! The more rudely the better. But it's hardly neighborly, maybe not even civilized; pleasure would give way to regret, regret to pain, and who's the loser in the end? – he, armored in tranquility and laughing at me for 'losing control of my emotions,' or me out of control and all too keenly aware of making a fool of myself? Better perhaps to go for a walk and come back later, after he's done. But isn't that being a little too easy to get along with? Or – a third possibility – approach him with rage suppressed and sweet reason foremost, appealing to his humanity, his understanding, his sense of community, in short all the higher faculties said to characterize our species, suggesting maybe some grass-cutting alternative, a manual lawn mower or even a newer quieter model of motorized blade. That's probably best – but those of us prone to irritation wouldn't be if that came easily to us, would we? No, rage begets enraged speech or no speech at all. (Or how about this: say, with scarcely concealed sarcasm, 'I'll even pay for it myself!' – if that doesn't shame him, nothing will. But what if nothing does?) What does the doctor say? 'My first defense against irritability,' he says, 'is' – if possible – 'to avoid irritating situations.' Take a walk, in short. It's in fact what I do, coming back to quiet restored. Good. And yet not. Something's missing; the challenge issued (unconsciously but still) remains unanswered, irritation persists, less edgy but not much less irritating. And what of all the other provocations out there? We'd be walking all day 'avoiding' them, avoiding one only to blunder into another no doubt, drawing the only conclusion possible: irritation is unavoidable. As a society we seethe with irritation. Wada cites road rage, an increasing hazard. Today's rager might be tomorrow's victim and vice versa. Whose character is proof against it, in a mass society that has no time for nuances of individual character? Everyday life plants us cheek by jowl with masses of people who mean absolutely nothing to us and to whom we mean nothing. How can perfect strangers' little ways fail to irritate us – he jammed against you in the train with his face that, for no good reason but no less for that, rubs you the wrong way; she at the supermarket checkout extracting coins one yen at a time while you grind your teeth waiting your turn behind her; the boss, subordinate or colleague at work who in all innocence (or perhaps not) says just the wrong thing at just the wrong moment in just the wrong tone with just the wrong expression on his or her face, and so on and so on, instances multiply faster than the typing fingers can type them or the tongue give them utterance. If one could only be alone! But isolation is no defense. The three years of the COVID epidemic proved that. 'The government response to it,' Wada writes, 'was shaped by epidemiologists who advised isolation on epidemiological grounds – not,' he adds, 'by psychiatrists who know the psychological price to be paid.' Soaring alcoholism and suicide figures bear him out. Stress, strain – it's everywhere. Whoever gets to the end of the day in a state of tranquil contentment has won the prize of prizes and deserves heartiest congratulations, but the facts conspire against it. Fact of facts: This world was not made to my specifications, or yours; it doesn't suit us, nor we it – in short, we have no control, or at most very little, over our environment beyond the four walls of our houses or rooms, retreat into which, as noted above, has its perils. We're barraged by sounds that make us cringe, sights that revolt us, words that offend us though not (most of the time) meant to. There's the parked car with the engine running, driver asleep oblivious; the motorbike hotrodders roaring by just as you're dropping off to sleep (or any other time!) – those irritations at least are justifiable on environmental and social grounds. Others are not: dogs if you don't like dogs, katakana English such as that which litters Wada's booklet (shichiuashon, furasutorashon, kurozuappu for close-up, mesodo for method, etc), ubiquitous background music filling shops, streets and heads whether your head likes it or not – what's more irritating than music you can't turn off? The very garbage trucks emit beeping nursery-rhyme melodies as they make their rounds. Stupid, foolish – why make mountains of a molehills? It's nothing. Surely a mature adult can learn to cope with – and all to too often must cope with – much worse than even the worst of these minor irritations? Surely you can reason down your feelings by recalling how very much more serious the real problems of life are? And surely there are enough of those to make inventing new ones out of nothing idiotic? True, true. But feelings are peculiar creatures. They refuse to be reasoned out of existence. They mock reason. They say, 'You're right, reason's right, I'm wrong – and I don't care, I win anyway!' And so they do. Wada's advice boils down to this: Take a deep breath, take a step back, take a walk here, have a talk there, look receptively outward rather than obsessively inward. The first of these, the deep breath, is physiological: The cerebral cortex, reason's seat within the brain, is fed, he explains, by oxygen; the symptoms of anger (the surging emotions, the loss of self-control, the loss for words, the reckless disregard for consequences) are 'the brain's warning that it needs oxygen.' Feed it. Is it that simple? Really? Maybe, maybe not. If it were, Wada and his fellow psychiatrists – they number an estimated 17,000 nationwide – would be out of business, wouldn't they? © Japan Today

27-05-2025

Fu: Savoring the Tastes and Textures of Japan's Traditional Vegan Wheat Protein

The traditional Japanese food fu appears in a wide array of dishes, from soups to hotpots to stir-fries. Glutenous and protein-rich, it adds texture to dishes and often replaces meat, offering healthy, hardy vegetarian options of mealtime favorites. We look at the three different types fu and their uses. Fu is a traditional Japanese food made from wheat gluten. Spongy and protein-rich, it absorbs the flavors of other ingredients, making it a versatile and nutritious addition to everything from soups to simmered dishes to stir-fries. As it is plant-based, it has long been a staple in shōjin ryōri, Buddhist vegetarian cuisine. Fu is made by mixing wheat flour into a dough to create gluten, which is then kneaded and washed in water to remove the starch. The resulting elastic mass is combined with different ingredients and baked, steamed, or deep-fried to make different types of fu. The ancestor of fu is thought to be a food called menchin, which Zen monks studying in China purportedly brought back to Japan during the Muromachi period (1333–1568). Early on, wheat was a rarity and fu was typically only eaten at temples, shrines, and the imperial court on special occasions. With the start of the Edo period (1603–1868), improvements in wheat farming and transportation made the grain more readily available, and fu became a more prominent part of the diets of regular people. Just as for Buddhist monks in the past, people today enjoy fu as a healthy food that is high in protein but low in calories. Below we look at the three main types of fu: steamed or boiled nama-fu, baked yaki-fu, and deep-fried age-fu. Nama-fu This type of fu typically contains other ingredients like yomogi (mugwort), sesame seeds, and various flours made from millet or glutinous rice, which produce a range of colors, tastes, and textures. Nama-fu is steamed or boiled and is chewy in texture. It comes in a variety of shapes and styles, such as rectangular dengaku enjoyed with sweetened miso paste or formed into decorative items resembling things like spring blossoms and autumn leaves that add seasonal zest to home cooking as well as traditional multi-course kaiseki cuisine. Nama-fu resembling seasonal items like mushrooms, autumn leaves, and slices of lotus root. (© Pixta) Yaki-fu Yaki-fu is made by adding wheat flour to gluten and then baking the concoction, allowing it to be stored for long periods without spoiling. It readily absorbs broths and marinades while retaining its chewiness, making it a popular addition to soups, hotpots, and simmered dishes A small variety called komachi-fu is often added to miso soup, and the round kuruma-fu, which is made by wrapping multiple layers of fu around a stick before baking it, and flat ita-fu make hardy substitutes for meat in stews and fried dishes. The amount of wheat flour added to the gluten determines the consistency of yaki-fu, with more producing heavier and less making lighter types. Other varieties of yaki-fu include colorful, flower-shaped hana-fu, rolled uzumaki-fu, and large, bun-like manjū-fu. There are also numerous regional variations. Kuruma-fu with Okinawa-style stir-fried vegetables. (© Pixta) Age-fu Age-fu is also made by mixing wheat flour and gluten, but instead of being baked it is fried, with the final product having a round, oblong appearance not unlike a small baguette. It is most closely associated with northern Miyagi and southern Iwate Prefectures, with a popular variety known as sendai-fu served in the katsudon style over rice and topped with egg. Aburafu-don made with sendai-fu is a filling, healthy treat. (© Pixta) Fu Spinoffs The starch-rich residue leftover when fu is made is also put to use. Mixed with water and left to ferment for around two years, it solidifies into a mochi-like texture when steamed. It is mixed with powdered kudzu root to make kuzumochi, a popular dessert in the Kantō area that is savored with sweetened soybean powder (kinako) and Japanese brown sugar syrup (kuromitsu). Kuzumochi. (© Pixta) (Originally published in Japanese. Banner photo © Pixta.)