Japan

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Worlds Elsewhere photo journal: comprehensive photos of our adventures

Instagram: @worldselsewhere

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We are in complete darkness.

I and my companions — Theo, Jackson, Hudson, my older sister Michelle, her daughter Emily, and my younger sister's daughter Anisa — are in James Turrell's art installation Backside of the Moon, part of the Art House Project on Naoshima Island, Japan. Ushered into this mysterious space in silence, and having guided ourselves to the bench with no visual cues, we sit in nervous anticipation.

I close my eyes. No difference between this blackness and my eyes-wide-open seeking. After a few minutes, I believe I discern pale light on the far right wall but decide I am imagining this. A few moments later, the guide informs us that, in fact, the room is illuminated and that, as our eyes adjust, we will be able to see the room in full, if dim, illumination. After telling us that the light has remained constant since the first day of installation years ago, he invites us to stand and explore. It is as if the room opens before us.

We stumble slowly forward, now seeing the different shades of soft light on the walls, the contours of the room, the stairs leading to a raised platform at one end. Our perception of the light strengthens and stabilizes, the room becomes easily navigable and we wander freely, exalting in the sense of discovery, reveling in our new existence.

Surprising even myself, I wept afterwards; Turrell’s interrogation of the individual's boundary between discernment and existence felt almost holy, asking: What unknown realities surround us because we haven't yet discerned an illumination that would allow us to see? What do we fail to recognize because we believe we are somewhere that turns out to be quite different?

Countless, countless times have I stumbled forward, wholly uncertain of what is to come, oh so slowly realizing the profound ignorance from which I have just emerged. Mercifully, I no longer fear knowing almost nothing- it being blatantly obvious, perhaps I have no choice but to embrace this reality. In fact, I have learned to be grateful — especially during the past 18 months of travel — for every smidgen of light, each metaphorical widening of the lens.

Even during an emotionally complicated journey through Japan — my Korean forebears suffered indescribably during Japan’s many brutal invasions; my own parents grew up under Japanese occupation — I could deeply appreciate the reverence for nature; societal norms emphasizing the good of the community; practices for calm self-awareness; deep respect for a complex and rich history; soul-stunning art and architecture; and the most wonderful cuisine. The past is always with us, but so too is the future. Everything that came before created this moment, and each moment ends upon its arrival, never to happen again. The mysteries of existence and experience are unending.

In Tokyo, we visited teamLab Planets, an unusual exhibition that invites participants to touch and interact with the digital and physical art, seeking to "blur the boundary between the self and the works". We took off our shoes to wade through Drawing on the Water Surface Created by the Dance of Koi and People, wandered from end to end of Expanding Three-Dimensional Existence in Transforming Space, a room of huge spheres, pushing the spheres to change their colors and positions, and explored Floating in the Falling Universe of Flowers, where our movements changed the display. Reminding us throughout that the universe at this moment in time can never be seen again, that what we have just changed by passing through will never reoccur, teamLab Planets catalyzed an absorption of both the profound grief of time passing and the joy of being together at an irreplaceable moment.

As I began to perceive illumination within Backside of the Moon, I moved tentatively, unsure of the ground and what lay ahead. I searched for the shapes of my husband, my children, my sister, my nieces, deriving comfort from them as we together sought the new, unfamiliar path. With them, I could breathe deeply, appreciate the beauty around me and contemplate our ephemeral existence inside the infinitesimal space we occupy in nature, across history and within the universe.

In Kyoto, we learned the details of and observed an ancient tea ceremony. Balletic in its elegance, the tea ceremony epitomizes the Japanese reverence for deliberate movements full of symbolism, complete concentration on the moment at hand, and harmony with one’s surroundings.

The Ryoan-ji rock garden in Kyoto, the epitome of Japanese Buddhist Zen garden construction, is designed to invoke deep meditation. One cannot see all 15 rocks from any given position. Many have tried to decode what the rocks are intended to represent. I love this powerful reminder of our limited perspective and the fact that the garden remains open to different interpretations, none of which can be said to be correct (or incorrect).

Bowing before entering a temple signifies a respectful recognition of the imminent entrance into a sacred area. This reminder of a centuries-old tradition helps orient the individual in history, a helpful nudge toward humility.

In Miyajima, home of the Itsukushima Shrine, with the iconic torii gate in the sea (Jackson and Hudson with their cousins Emily and Anisa, below), we hiked to the high point of the island, visiting the Daisho-In temple at the top. Above, AMK paying her respects to the temple’s 500 tiny statues, who represent Buddha’s first followers and whose hats are knitted by temple patrons.

In Osaka, we visited the instantly recognizable 400 year-old White Heron Castle, a stunning example of Japanese feudal architecture. Hudson continually astounded our guides with his knowledge of Japanese feudal history, garnered from books and Netflix documentaries.

Tokyo has, it seems, an animal café on every corner. At Hudson’s instigation, we visited a capybara café, befriending Ki-Chon, an enormous specimen.

I turned 54 in Tokyo, receiving an enormous tub of Baskin Robbins mint chocolate chip ice cream that we happily demolished for my birthday breakfast!

We explored the countryside of Okayama with Hiromi (who was from the tiny town that served as our base but had gone to college in Minnesota!). Hiromi introduced us to a calligraphy artist (Jackson trying his hand, above), a maker of musical instruments, a metalworker, and numerous artists in the Bizenware ceramics area, allowing us to learn about each artisan’s intimate knowledge of the centuries-old history behind their practice.

We spent two days in Uda at a beautiful mountainside villa, hosted by Tetsuji Matsubayashi, a monk who practices the mountain-worshipping religion of Shugendo. Tetsu conducted a private Buddhist fire ritual for us, speaking of the power of shared prayer as well as group chanting at a particular frequency to align with the universe’s vibration. His practiced movements in a fascinatingly complex ceremony, conducted many hundreds of times before, united us in a contemplation of our existence. Tetsu asked us each to write 3 wishes (one for ourselves, one for the community, one for the universe) on wooden sticks; these were then burned during the ceremony, their ashes lifted on our prayers. He took us to the Akama 48 Waterfalls ravine (a ninja training ground), blowing on an enormous conch shell to announce our visitation; after asking permission of the forest to enter, Tetsu led us in.

In Hiroshima, we learned that an estimated 10-25% of the victims of the atomic bomb were Korean, brought to Japan as conscripted labor. Sadly, the Korean victims are not acknowledged on the anniversary of the attack, such recognition instead being relegated by the government to a different day. This turtle monument, a symbol of the belief that souls of the dead rise to heaven on the backs of turtles, faces toward Korea, a devastating reminder of atrocity within atrocity.