Cats of Fukuoka

I'm a "dog person" through and through. A canine admirer, owner, and friend.

Cats are...interesting, if you observe them from afar: after all, they happen to be walking furry allergens, in my case!

I look at cats as an "in between" in terms of wildlife and house pets. They were domesticated much later than dogs, which explains their aloofness beyond their intrinsic feline traits.

This is, perhaps, why I found their affection—amongst themselves—to be particularly endearing. This pair cuddled at the Fukuoka Seaside Park and simultaneously sent me the "death stare."

That was a very "cat thing" to do, I thought.

Daibutsu

The Great Buddha of Nara: this is one of those times when you thank your telephoto or macro lens for acting as a miniature telescope, because this level of detail is not visible from the ground. 

As the name implies, this Buddha inside Todai-ji is enormous. In fact, it's the world's largest bronze Buddha Vairocana.

Spring

Alexander Pushkin in "Autumn":

This is my time: I am not fond of spring;
The tiresome thaw, the stench, the mud - spring sickens me.
The blood ferments, and yearning binds the heart and mind.
With cruel winter I am better satisfied,
I love the snows; when in the moonlight
A sleigh ride swift and carefree with a friend.
Who, warm and rosy 'neath a sable mantle,
Burns, trembles as she clasps your hand.

 (I like spring before the rain season, by the way.)

Monumental Nihilism?

In terms of the two most common religions in Japan, I have always found Shinto more appealing as compared to Buddhism. The latter is the case not only due the fact that it is indigenous, but, more important, living practically "out in Nature" in the last little while, I've really grown to understand—on some kind of a basic, semi-rational level—the"primitive" animistic religions around the world.

For me, of course, everything having its own "spirit" is somewhere between a metaphor and reality, considering the consciousness "structure" of Modern man. But it is a powerful one: after all, I name various natural markers on my hikes as if those places "belong" to them.

With that in mind, one of the most fascinating things about Buddhism, particularly its nihilistic streak, is the presence of so many monumental structures around the world. The 44-foot-tall bronze Great Buddha of Kamakura, in particular, dating to mid-13th century, is, of course, one of the most iconic images of Japan.

During my rather belated visit, his serene meditative state was momentarily interrupted by the flapping of numerous wings over his massive head.

I call that luck!

Black on Green and the Un-Home

The thing about returning to this Rocky Mountain paradise from Asia or Europe is not the lengthy flights with multi-hour layovers (which could get quite pesky), but the fact that it—this paradise—is not.

Is not home, that is.

There is one caveat, of course: solitary hikes amidst northern Nature do feel like home. But this is the case just about anywhere for me. And so, this little town next to a mountain, this little town that I do like quite a bit, does not feel like home.

Unsurprisingly, I've lost that feeling almost completely long ago when I graduated college and left my parents' house, though even there, in the Canadian prairies, it wasn't quite right. 

It feels right in Moscow, my birthplace.

And in St. Petersburg.

But it's been a long time since I've lived in Russia, far too long, and things have changed. So much. And so, if I were to relocate to a place that I think would feel like home, it might not—likely, will not—feel like home for quite some time.

This is the plight of rootless cosmopolitans, like me, whose parents opted for immigration, even if for entirely legitimate reasons.

What does all of this have to do with Japan? It sounds contrived, but the old trope about discovering oneself in a foreign country is accurate. The Land of the Rocking Samurai (as I've always called it) shows me my limits, my comforts zones, tells me when it's too late, and when "too late" is a good thing. Japan emphasizes what—and whom—I miss, and what (who) doesn't even register on my radar. 

Beyond intense self-analysis, there are, of course, some of the most generous and wonderful people I've ever met (despite a time or two when the Japanese strike me as being too reserved by my too-open Slavic standards!), whose number seems to grow. And then there is Nature, the main reason for my travels, including certain wildlife specimens whom most would take for granted—ravens and crows.

Like this new friend of mine in Shinjuku Gyoen (again! of course!). 

Isn't he gorgeous?