Day 13: Kyoto > Naoshima
Today, I thought I saw my grandfather, Paul, who died a few weeks ago.
At second glance, it was an elderly Asian man who looked uncannily like him, just before he fell ill and died. The same frail frame, curled up on that subway seat, the same sharp look in his eyes. For a moment, it looked like he recognised something in me too, but he was probably just scrutinising this weird Westerner.
I wondered, is this him reincarnated? But why would anyone be brought back at a similar age, in a similar body, which, sooner or later, faces the same fate? And what would that even mean? What good is it for a spirit to carry on in another host, for a “self” to prevail, without any knowledge of its real nature? Presumably, various belief systems claim to answer questions like these, but isn’t the search for these “truths” ultimately about preserving the ego, exactly what we should be seeking to free ourselves from?
Uninformed spiritual musings aside, I miss my grandad. He would have cherished any token we brought back with us, any postcard we bothered to send, all the stories we’d have to tell. He never made it to Japan himself, but he would have been thrilled to experience it vicariously, through his loved ones. I would have printed out this journal in large text so he could devour it, ask us about it, file it away and, every now and then, take it out to pour over again.
This open-minded, open-ended fascination with people, places and things is something I aspire to, but may never fully attain. Still, for Paul, I’ll keep trying.
Onward now, to Naoshima.