Take a sad song and make it better

If you don't understand what this post is about please read this earlier blog -
http://ameri-pan.blogspot.com/2009/02/oh-nicky-boy.html


The day was hot and humid. Keri and I pushed through the crowds of Komachi-Dori. Past the rickshaw guy and right across from the Amish cafe there's a single tori gate set amid the trees. It was a blessing to venture out of the sun and into the cool shade.


We had found Tsurugaoko Hachimangu, a particularly impressive Shinto shrine. We climbed the long flight of stairs to the main building stopping now and then to take pictures.


At the top I looked around. "Do you think I should put it on one of those?" I asked Keri, as I pointed to a stand covered in votive plaques known as ema.


"Yeah, they have more inside too."


We passed inside the main building. A large stand, more than six feet tall and as long as a pickup truck, stood on either side of the offering box. Behind a screen we could just make out the movements of a priest in prayer.


The stand closest to us was covered in hundreds, maybe thousands of ema, all hung one atop the other as many as six deep. I had seen ema stands all over Japan, but none had been so crowded as this one. Wishes to the gods were written in Japanese, English and French. Some people had just draw pictures or written their names.

I approached the low table in front of the stand and pulled a strange assortment from my purse - a roll of clear tape, a battered and much folded envelope and a 500 yen piece. I dropped the small offering box and took an ema in trade. I looked at the stylized picture of a horse, then flipped it over to reveal pale, unblemished wood.


I taped the fragment of shirt to the ema, then brushed my fingers against the fold at the bottom. I looked at the stand. An empty spot was hard to find. Finally I reached up, as high as I could reach to hang the ema on top of five others. When I stepped back I picked it out easily. It was the only patch of white against the wood.

I paused as we walked out of the building to look over my shoulder at the fragment of shirt, lost now in a sea of wishes.


"Are you okay?" Keri said.


"Yeah."


I leave you today with a quote from Marie Beyon Ray, "Begin doing what you want to do now. We are not living in eternity. We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand ­ and melting like a snowflake. Let us use it before it is too late."