This is the last
article that I have to write in this draining and debilitating challenge - the
A to Z thing. With the great benefit of hindsight I was rather foolhardy in
accepting it although it has driven home the fact that writing is a discipline.
It is sometimes hard work.
It was laborious
and tough writing six nights a week by the letter of the alphabet.
I am glad that it
is over.
There is no prize
or trophy to be won – it was simply a call to arms for writers by a couple of
people who I don’t know at all.
They are
strangers.
I don’t really
know the point of it actually – it just seemed like a good idea at the time -
but I do like to write and I write to be read.
It is satisfying
to complete the challenge.
I have been
guilty of taking such rash actions before with things and places and people.
They seemed like good ideas at the time but they turned out to be very
difficult and different to what I imagined - and in some instances they were disastrous.
This is
particularly the case with people.
Shit happens.
We move on.
So this post is
not about Zeina either - however it is about a Zen garden. It is a continuation
of my “J” post that was titled “’J’ is
for a jaunt in Japan”. That post was about a plane trip I had from
Singapore to Tokyo where I met a Japanese Godfather – yes of the mafia type –
and his entourage. Some of his entourage had only nine fingers and one was the
gorgeous and elegant Myoki-san with whom I instantly fell in love.
Myoki had all ten
fingers.
If you wish to know
why the word ‘san’ is added to the end of some Japanese names you will have to
read the “’J’ is for a jaunt in Japan”
post.
A
Godfather-of-the-mafia type is known as an Oyabun in Japan. They are immensely
wealthy and wield enormous power – but they undertake their crime-world
activities within a strict code of conduct.
They are ethical
criminals.
I shall reveal no
further information about my “J” post - “’J’
is for a jaunt in Japan”.
I couldn’t be
bothered.
Read it for
yourself.
I dislike the
term ‘post’ too but I feel compelled to use it.
I don’t know why.
However my
writing is simply writing and a ‘post’ to me is something related to mail or a
wooden thing that is driven into the ground and to which an animal is tethered.
Or it could be a bed-post or a lamp-post.
I am very old
school.
I have drifted
off again. This is something that I quite often do and I make no apologies.
Why the fuck
would I?
This writing is
not really about Zeina though.
I titled it “’Z” is for Zeina and the Zen garden”
because I do have a friend called Zeina and she does know that I am up to “Z” in
this challenge thing and I thought I might take the piss and freak her out a
bit by making her think that I am going to write about her.
However I am not.
Going to write
about her.
Well I might just
a little bit.
‘Zeina’ is an
unusual name and it has Arabic roots – as does Zeina. I have had to ‘add’ her
name to my Mac’s dictionary as the fucker autocorrect function utterly rejects
the spelling and it puts a red underscore on it.
I don’t like
that.
Zeina’s family
comes from Algeria – or at least some of them do. I am not sure whether this is
from her mother or father’s side nor is it at all significant to me.
Sorry Zeina but it
isn’t.
Significant to
me.
Many of her
friends and I too refer to Zeina sometimes as “Zee”. If I were American I would
just spell this as “Z” – but thank goodness I am not.
American that is.
Zeina herself is
not Algerian. She is English. I have no idea from where in England Zeina comes
from nor again is it significant to me.
It doesn’t
matter.
Zeina speaks like
a bit of a London Geezer and it is the type of English that I like a lot.
People who know London and Londoners will know what I mean. Geezers say things
like “Y’oright?” as a form of
greeting and they use words like “Innit?”
“Y’oright?”
can be directly translated to “Are you
alright?” and is used by Geezers to say “Hello”
and “Innit” translates to “Isn’t it?” and is used by Geezers much
like the Singaporeans use the word “La”.
It is
nonsensical.
When a Geezer
says, “Y’oright?” to you it is
appropriate protocol to say, “Y’oright?”
straight back. You could even say, “Y’oright
init?”
The Geezers would
like that.
I have known
Zeina for about four or five years and I think that she has been on the Island
for a few years before me. She worked on the construction of the Marina Bay
Sands monolith. She is gorgeous and funny and smart and feisty and I like her a
lot.
Zeina married
another English Geezer last year - who I don’t know very well and whom I won’t
name here in respect of Zeina’s privacy. By all reports he is a very good
bloke. They now have a little Geezer baby girl who is simply beautiful.
She really is.
So that is all I
will write about Zeina. She plays Facebook quite a lot so I am sure that she
will read this not long after I post it. After reading up to this point she
will be less freaked out than when she saw the title.
Am I right Zee?
Chill out babe.
All is good.
So now to the
continuation of my “J” post - “’J’ is for
a jaunt in Japan” – and my encounter with the Oyabun and the delicious
Myoki-san and my visit to the Zen Garden.
I should point out that
whilst I would like to reveal much of what transpired in my encounter with the
Oyabun and his underlings - and indeed the name of the Japanese mafia Godfather
- I cannot.
For I have taken an oath.
An oath is not a stupid or
loutish person.
That is an oaf.
I know this because I work
with many.
Oafs that is.
They are predominantly
English.
An oath is a sworn promise
and I made one to the Oyabun and I will keep it.
I should also say too at this
early stage of the Zen Garden tale - do not worry Mum – don’t panic – I am
quite OK. My ten fingers are intact and I remain un-inked by any Yakuza cult
tattoos.
I promise you this.
So at the end of my “’J’ is for a jaunt in Japan” post I was
awaiting a call from the concierge desk of my Roppongi Hills hotel. I was
waiting for them to inform me that a car had arrived to take me to the home of
the Japanese Godfather. You will have to read the “’J’ is for a jaunt in Japan” post for the background information
of this invitation for I shall not repeat myself here.
Again - why would I?
I received that call pretty
much at the appointed time and I then went downstairs where two imposing
Japanese bodyguard-type men awaited me in a very expensive German motor
vehicle. The car had black tinted windows – the type that you can see out of
but no one can see in.
The men were different from
the ones who accompanied the Godfather on our shared plane and helicopter trip
- and both appeared to be fully digital in the hand department. The rear door
of the vehicle was opened for me and inside was awaiting the gorgeousness that
is Myoki-san.
If you have read the “’J’ is for a jaunt in Japan” post you
will know that Myoki-san is the personal assistant of the
Oyabun-who-I-cannot-name and when she greeted and smiled at me my heart melted,
imaginary turtle doves flew around her head, harp music played and I felt all
weak at the knees.
I was definitely love struck.
Myoki-san and I chatted
pleasantly as the large German motor vehicle drove us through the Tokyo traffic
into the Shinjuku district of the city.
Shinjuku is one of my most
favourite wards of Tokyo and whilst it has always been popular with residents
and overseas visitors - it shot to international fame following the
release in 2003 of the Hollywood movie “Lost in Translation”. This film starred
Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson and it was set in the luxurious Park Hyatt
hotel.
It was a love story.
The car manoeuvred its way
along impossibly narrow streets before it entered a non-descript driveway and
it came to a halt. The two big boys opened both my and Myoki-san’s doors and we
alighted simultaneously. We walked up a narrow pathway and approached an
intricately and beautifully carved set of wooden doors that miraculously opened
just before we arrived.
I suspect that security
cameras were monitoring us.
At the doors was a smiling
Japanese man of an indeterminable age. He was splendidly attired in full
butler’s livery. Myoki-san paused in her stride – as did I – and deep bows were
exchanged.
It was very Japanese and
formal.
Myoki then spoke some rapid
fire Japanese to the butler dude, a further bow was given – and returned - and
we then walked through the doors into one of the most beautiful gardens that I
have ever seen.
It was like stepping into
Shangri-La.
My words will be quite
inadequate to describe the stunning vista that Myoki and I entered and I think
that I must have gasped out loud – for Myoki asked me if I was alright. I told
her that I was and I tried to take in the majestic glory of the garden that
surrounded me.
For a moment I suffered a
sensory overload.
Our first few steps took us
onto one of many arched wooden bridges that crossed a series of interconnected
ponds that were teeming with enormous koi fish. A small waterfall cascaded down
grey-blue rocks and there were intricate beds of sand in which were traced
patterns of concentric circles. They were also impregnated with smooth pebbles
of all shapes and sizes. Incredibly ornate and wonderfully shaped Japanese
Maple and Cherry trees of blazing red and deep green were everywhere and I had
to pause on the little wooden bridge to take it all in.
“I have seen many Zen
gardens before Myoki-san – but none quite so beautiful as this”
“Yes Peter-san” the Japanese angel replied.
“Senpai spends much of his
time when in Tokyo in his garden and he enjoys times of reflection and
contemplation when he is here”
There is no literal
translation of the word Senpai. It is a term used in deference to someone who
is greatly respected or honoured. Zen gardens are a very ancient part of
Japanese culture. They have been around for more than a thousand years and are
deeply symbolic. Buddhist monks initially created them.
Myoki explained to me that
the word ‘Zen’ is actually a western one. She told me that the Japanese refer
to these gardens as “Karesansui” - which means ‘Dry Mountain and Water Garden’.
There is much beauty in the
meaning of many Japanese words.
There really is.
Myoki told me that the Godfather
employed monks to maintain his gardens and that these monks regularly raked and
re-raked the sand and gravel into new patterns to simulate the changes that
oceans go through. She explained that this was symbolic of the way that human
minds experience such changes – and that by altering the patterns it prompted
meditation, introspection and careful consideration.
I told her that I thought
that this was very beautiful and she told me that she agreed.
We walked slowly through these
peaceful and serene gardens and eventually arrived at another large courtyard
where the Oyabun-whose-name-I-will-not-mention was tending to some bonsai
plants that were laid out on a long marble bench. He was wearing some sort of
black silk traditional costume and he was holding some very ornate looking
scissors that he put down when we approached. Some more formal bows were
exchanged before he shook my hand warmly in the Western way and he asked me how
I was.
His English was very broken
but his smile was intact and it was very genuine and warm.
I told the Oyabun that I was
very well and that I thought that his gardens were incredibly beautiful. Miyoki
translated this for me and he beamed even more.
I asked Myoki to tell the Godfather
that my son was learning to become a bonsai master back in Australia which
sparked off a three way translated conversation that was as interesting as it
was protracted.
I showed both Myoki and the
Senpai some photos of my boy’s bonsai on my I-phone and he seemed genuinely
impressed.
I also told them that I
sometimes referred to my son as my ‘little tree’ because of his love of bonsai
and they both thought that this was very funny.
After a while we moved into
yet another courtyard where a very low table was laid out with a stunning
ceramic tea set and a vast array of food. We sat down cross-legged Japanese
style while two young girls dressed in gorgeous kimonos poured us steaming cups
of ginger tea.
Myoki told me whilst I was
taking my first sip that the tea set was more than four hundred years old and
it belonged to the Senpai’s great-great-great grandfather. I nearly choked when
I heard this for I am famous for my clumsiness. From that point on I drank my
tea very carefully and with both hands gripping the cup.
We chatted in an easy and
relaxed manner for nearly an hour and having Myoki-san interpreting every word
that was said was no burden at all.
Like the waterfall in the
godfather's garden, our conversation flowed.
After tea the godfather asked
if I would like to see his collection of Samurai swords. If you have read the
“’J’ is for a jaunt in Japan” post you would know that this was the primary
reason for me being invited to the Oyabun’s house.
If you haven’t read it - bad
luck.
I once again replied with the
question, “Is the Pope Catholic?” I
uttered this same response on the plane where we first met and it elicited a
similar reaction of amusement from the old fellow.
He expressed much mirth.
Senpai led Myoki and me
through a series of corridors and rooms decorated with beautiful Japanese art
and furniture and we eventually emerged into a huge hall. The dude’s house was
simply enormous. The hall that we entered was lined with swords that were all
hung on a wall. There must have been at least one hundred of them.
Possibly more.
They were exquisite.
The Oyabun led me up and down
each wall and he paused often to tell me – through Myoki - about the history of
many of the swords – which era they were made – and by which craftsman.
It was one of the most fascinating displays that I have ever seen. We must have
spent a couple of hours in the hall but it is difficult to tell.
It was one of those moments
where time gets lost.
Then it suddenly ended.
The Godfather announced that
he had meetings to attend and Myoki informed me that we had to go. I bowed very
deeply to the Senpai as we left – and I asked Myoki to tell him that I felt
most honoured and humbled and privileged to be invited to his home. My bow was
returned and I was a little surprised when the old dude then gave me a hug.
It was my first cuddle with a
Japanese Oyabun and I was quite chuffed.
When we got into the car
Myoki asked me if I wanted to go to one of the Senpai’s clubs that was nearby
and I told her that I did. She barked some Japanese at the driver and ten
minutes later we were in a back alley in Shinjuku. We walked up some stairs and
emerged into a very high-class club that was throbbing with the ‘doof doof’ of
music and it was full of beautiful people of every race and gender.
The place was pumping.
Myoki and I were ushered into
what I presume was a VIP area and over the course of the next few hours I met
an amazing array of characters. I had a couple of funnily named cocktails –
which is quite unusual for me as I am not much of a drinker.
I recall chatting to one very
big and much-tattooed Japanese guy with a missing little pinky.
Miyoki-san told me that in
the ‘family business’ as she described it, the cutting off of one's finger is a
form of penance or apology and it is not just ‘being in the gang’ as I
initially thought. She told me that such an act is called “Yubitsume” - where
the transgressor must cut off the tip of his left little finger and give the
severed portion to his boss. She told me that sometimes an underboss might do
this in penance to the Oyabun if he wanted to spare a member of his own gang
from further retaliation.
Myoki informed me that the
origin of “Yubitsume” stems from the traditional way of holding a Japanese
sword. The bottom three fingers of each hand are used to grip the sword
tightly, with the thumb and index fingers slightly loose – and the removal of
digits - starting with the little finger – and then moving up the hand to the
index finger - progressively weakens a person's sword grip.
Nice huh?
I told Myoki-san that my son
Tom - the little tree - had many tattoos and I would be happy to cut off one of
his fingers and send it to the Oyabun as a token of my respect. She laughed at
this and so did I.
I don't think that Tom will
be too happy about it though.
As night moved into early
morning I met and conversed with a number of interesting people including some
men who I first assumed were African Americans – but I soon established that
they were actually English. Like Zeina they were Geezers. These ones wore
hoodies and they said ‘innit’ a lot –
often in quite strange parts of their sentences. After a while they referred to
me as a ‘Geezer’ too.
I recall quite firmly correcting
them and telling them that I was most certainly not – I was Australian - but I
spoke and understood the Geezer language.
For example I was asked:
“So you live in Singapore
innit?”
To which I replied with some
delight:
“Yes I do innit”
I recall a bit of a drunken
conversation with a group of these Geezers about the fact that I go to Nepal
and Hong Kong quite a lot and I recollect talking about the subject of illicit drugs
and mules too.
A mule is a hybrid breed of
animal that is formed when a horse is bred with a donkey. They are commonly
used to carry people and things and they are regarded as beasts of burden.
However mule is also a term used by gangsters to describe very silly people who
smuggle illegal substances across international borders.
I think that the hooded
English Geezers were referring to the latter rather than former type of mules in
their conversation with me.
At one point I suggested to
the Geezer lads that I thought that it might be a good idea – if they were that
way inclined – to use an actual mule as a drug mule – and to declare to
immigration when they arrived at the country of destination that they had a
mule.
For some insane reason they
said, “that is fuckin brilliant bruvver innit’
The whole night was madness
but was great fun and I arrived back at my hotel not long before the sun came
up.
Myoki sent me back in her
employer’s car.
On the drive back to the
hotel I wondered whether the monks were then tending to the
Oyabun-whose-name-I-cannot mention’s beautiful Zen garden as dawn broke.
I imagined that the Zen
garden at dawn would be very beautiful indeed.
I saw and heard a whole heap
of other stuff that was interesting and kind of secret that night but I can
reveal none of it here.
I will not.
I have taken an oath.
Liked your style! Visiting from the A-Z :)
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