The Potter's Notebook by Frank Giovinazzi, a historical novel set in 17th century Japan, is available on the Amazon Kindle platform and in paperback.
Seven Hideaki was still climbing. The sun was steaming into the mist into a fine humidity that encased him like a damp set of clothes. He blotted his forehead with his soaked personal towel and was grateful it was cooler than the steam on his face. The butterflies still infested this altitude, darting in and out of the trees on their vitally and pointless flights. The moist air was speckled with yellow, white and brown specimens. He could not locate the turquoise voyager. Then Hideaki saw him, when he looked up at the medium height cedars. The light blue butterfly came wafting down, not using his wings so much as streaming down on the light filtering through the wide holes in the leafy net. He fixed his attention on the creature once again, rejoining him, experiencing the effortless drift down, enjoying the warmth on his back and the cool air rising to meet him. Even for the butterfly it was a moment of true grace. The old man was right, the world is always interesting. Nevertheless, Hideaki was thinking of a place to rest. What was it the old man used to say? Just when you are getting the most bored, the most hypnotized by the world, that is exactly the time to push on. * * * "The world has many secrets and hates to give them up too easily. That is why the greatest truths are hidden by veils of boredom." The old man smiled as they continued to mill pebbles and granules of kaolin into finer dust. They were working in iron bowls, each using a short-handled rocking blade to work on the irregular pieces of raw material. After the excitement of playing among the rising and falling arms of the karausu, this manual work was getting tedious. Watching the three arms rise and fall in their three-chord progression was like looking at the hammers inside the piano as her sister did her lessons. Only the sounds coming from these life-size strikers was richer, more resonant as their music echoed against the natural amphitheater of trees and rock. Accompanied by the wind rustling the leaves, the different birds and the insects chittering, all backed up by the wispy track of the several streams in the area, everything came together in a spontaneous symphony that would be the despair of any composer. "The world is wise," the old man continued, "for if it chose to secret its wisdom behind danger or other kinds of threats, then many would rise to the challenge, if only because their excitable minds leads them from one activity to another without pausing to understand anything. But the world is crafty. By hiding its greatest secrets behind boredom, repetition and routine, the grand adventurers all go rushing by, haughtily proclaiming their goal, even as they pass the destination." Hideaki nodded at the words, but found himself idly working the material in the iron bowl as he watched the arms of the karausu play their infinitely simple melody. In the days that followed, Hideaki did his homework whenever he could catch extra time at school. He viewed it as a nuisance, something that came between visits with the old man. At an after school consultation, his advisor warned him that either he would change his attitude or be transferred from his prestigious school. He was watching the clock the whole time. The days were getting a little longer, giving him more time in the mountains each day. When he came out of his private meeting, his mother was waiting for him, a grim look cemented on her face. It was the universal look, the kind every kid knows, the one look that a mother has in her arsenal that is non-negotiable. Every kid knows not to argue with that look. Every kid also hopes that by being attentive during the silent judgment, somehow their fate will be attenuated. This time it was not. When wanted to rebel when the leaden words came out of her mouth. She had gone to the extreme of calling his father - international long distance, now he'd have to bear the burden of hearing about the cost of that, too - who was away on a business trip. They had decided unless things changed, right away, he was going to be enrolled in a full-time after school juko program. That meant seven days a week, 3-5 hours a day. The juko was the last vestige of the old education system, that his father said should have never been changed, the kind of 'Spartan Education' that he kept talking about was the reason for Japan's success and, by the way, the reason why their family could afford the things that, his father also felt, they all took for granted. Hideaki didn't have to talk to his father on the phone to hear the litany in his head: "You don't study hard enough." "We didn't have these things when I was a kid." "They don't give as much work as they used to." And so on. The full-time juko was reserved for nostalgic militarists like his father, for kids who wanted to get into premier universities no matter the cost to their mental health, and for the truly dysfunctional, the ones who were in danger of falling through the cracks of the system to some mythically horrible fate. All who were sent there had one thing in common: they were incarcerated in a mental prison of drills and testing that was as real a jail as any with bars and razor wire fences. Hideaki panicked. That would be the end of the only happiness he had known in a long time! He could not allow this to happen, couldn't allow this sarcophagus of fate to congeal around him, giving him just enough air to breathe, to understand the horror of his confinement. But he had learned enough from both dealing with the old man and managing his mother that he knew he could gently test the boundaries of this new edict. “When is this supposed to start?” "When term reports come out in three weeks, if you're not back on track by then, you're going to suffer your Father's famous Spartan Education." She had heard his lectures too, for the most part usually running interference in front of his more extreme notions. But when the idea came from her, it was time to fly straight. He went to his study room at the top of the stairs. He tried to calm his panic with the knife-edged reason that comes to the fore in an emergency. All of a sudden, he was motivated, focused, ready to take action. He looked at his pile of books and exercise pads with more determination than despair. It was a late night. Toward the third hour, when the enthusiasm of fear started to sputter, he found he didn't need it anymore; he was inside the work, enjoying it. His head was heavy with fatigue and he was able to observe himself simply doing the work, like when he was chopping wood or swinging the pickax. He was in the effort and slightly above it at the same time. No, it was more like part of his mind was asleep, that the only part he needed for his task was involved in the activity. There was no separation between him and the work, it had become an extension of himself. Out of this seamless relationship he felt a part of his mind slip out and sort of lay there, floating slightly above the whole scene. Tonight there was also a major difference. Whenever he had this experience in the past, he jumped up from the study desk and found something else to do, afraid to surrender to it. Tonight he observed the condition. Not wanting to end the flow, he stayed at his work. He even disciplined himself to get up up an hour earlier the next day, to study for the surprise quizzes coming his way. He made a production of knocking around in the kitchen while fixing a bowl of rice and some tea, to let his mother he was taking her edict seriously. School had a new dimension that day. He was motivated, paid attention, did the work, volunteered. After classes, he stayed a little longer to demonstrate his commitment – and to have an excuse for his mother when she asked him why he hadn't come home right away. He wanted to see the old man today of all days. He wondered if missing him for a day, the old man would somehow disappear, gone back to where he came. Hideaki ran pell-mell into the woods, tripping over vines and slipping in wet leaves. "The world doesn't conspire to take away what you need. Nor does it lay itself open to give you what you want. Neutral, it operates on the principle of reciprocity." The voice came from out of nowhere. Hideaki was relieved. He was bent over, an open palm on each knee, catching his breath and trying to mask his relief. The old man walked toward him with his bamboo stick. They still had work to do from the other day, but the stick meant they were going for a walk. Where to? "We have enough work. Done much, more to do. Work is always there, but rest is too. Both are important." The old man bore a different expression on his face. He had returned to the way he looked the day he met in the cave. An intertwined combination of compassion and patience. He seemed as remote from Hideaki as when they first met. They walked together. "Your troubles will pass. They are not big ones." The old man walked slower than usual, speaking in a softer tone. "No, but I don't want to go to this cram school, I don't want to do all that extra work. I don't want to miss our time together!" Hideaki was panting, close to crying. A spider web strung across the trail stuck to his face. He took the opportunity to brush it away and quell his nascent tears. "Don't worry about results right now." That was most unusual for the old man to say. Hideaki took his attention away from the mix of tears and webbing that were clinging to his hands. "Think first about the causes that brought you those results. That is the important thing. You are young, this is when the patterns you set will create the very fabric of your life. People don't understand that their patterns create their lives, so that they look back, fifty, sixty, seventy years later and ask, why did I have such a bad life? Everything is in your control because everything begins in the mind." Hideaki always listened to the old man, because he wanted to, because he enjoyed it and because the old man treated him well. Now the boy was listening for all those reasons, plus the desperate hope that what he had to say would rescue him from this punishment that others thought he deserved but only he felt was unfair. "Now, you are frightened, ready to do extra work, study, answer questions try to impress teacher and mother, father too. But what about when this crisis is over? Will the same problems not keep repeating? They will because it is the mind that is always at the center of the storm. And you'll continue to get the same results, if this," tapping the side of the Hideaki's temple with his bamboo stick, "remains the same." They kept walking. Hideaki was calming down and listening, really listening, to what the old man had to say. "What we must do is get of the bottom of the problem, the real problem, and fix it. That way you resolve this situation and your life as well. That is a real solution, one that fixes both the immediate and the underlying problem. It is like trying to throw a pot when the clay is not centered – no matter how hard you work the mound always wobbles, or the piece is misproportioned. First you must learn to center the clay." Hideaki didn't understand. How the problem could be in his mind? After all, school is hard, everyone tries to get through or around it as best they can. For once, he really didn't agree with the old man, but he would keep listening "That's the problem, listening without hearing. Talking without thinking. Living without being!" The old man had actually raised his voice! "Not everyone is trying to rush through things, not everyone is trying to get around everything. What about those things we do together, what kind of mind do you bring to those things? What about the way you did your homework last night? When I was your age, I tried to go around, sneak by, do as little as possible. That is not the way. The way is to wake up, to understand who you are and what you are capable of, then you can do anything with interest and excellence!" Not only was the old man raising his voice, but he was starting to sound like his father! They stopped at the entrance of a hilltop shrine, a large stone platform that weeds growing up between the cracks and several disheveled stone markers lying around. The stairs disappeared a few hundred meters up the slope to a point Hideaki could not see from the ground. "Come," said the old man. They ascended the narrow stairs, the old man in front of Hideaki, passing though a series of ancient torii gates. These gates on the way to heaven were so old they seemed to have grown up out of the ground, impassive to the centuries as they invited pilgrims to pass under their protection. To Hideaki the two wooden poles topped by a crossbeam never before appeared to be anything more than annoying remnants of a superstitious Japan he had no connection with. Now they offered him support in a world spinning out of control. The steps were old even by the standard of these mountains, hand-cut of stone. The dirt and weeds did not disguise the rough tool marks made when they had been laid in the days of the Shogun, when these mountains were considered a sacred training ground for warrior and priest alike. "They are sacred." Hideaki
noticed a lightness to the old man's step, quite different from the way he was
talking. He climbed like a younger man eager to reach his destination. Hideaki suddenly knew they were heading to where the old man was from! They kept climbing. A thick black snake, slithered like a lightning bolt from under a pile of curled yellow leaves, The old man was still climbing quickly, now oddly silent. They stopped on a landing. The climb had taken them into a dense, dark area of forest. The old man was somber. The lines on his face were drained of their humor and appeared stonelike, as hard and unyielding as the mountain granite on the path. "Times like this come rarely in a man's life. Sometimes never. You have an opportunity to fix everything now. But maybe never again." The old man fixed Hideaki with a look of seriousness. "Maybe only once more, years from now, after you've already wasted a good portion of your life." He sounded wistful to Hideaki who was not used to the old man revealing emotions. "I am sad. It happened to me, and I would not want that for you." They resumed climbing. "I was like you once, young, good at some things, not at others. Always wanting to do what I could do easy, skirting the rest. Times were different then, not like now. Once failure was enough to end a life, never mind a career or simple afterschool fun."Hideaki looked down the staircase from another time, and couldn't make out the entrance. Ahead, the end was shrouded in darkness. For the first time he remembered something his father used to tell him, that that's the way life is, sometimes, you're just stuck in the middle, and you have to rely on what you know, and what you know you can do to get you through to the other side. "We are going to a place that I know very well. There is no reason to fear." The old man's bamboo stick kept clicking on the stone steps. "But remember, I will not always be here to guide you. When you are given an opportunity to learn a lesson of this magnitude, you must heed it. The world does not like it when those it shines favor on are lazy or ungrateful." The forest around them was smelled heavy and wet. The air was old, as if it hadn't been breathed by humans for many years. Hideaki followed the old man into the darkness.
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