[015/100] Uji Shui Monogatari

Do you have Hakoniwa?

Tomorrow is the full moon. In what kind of “personal miniature garden” (hakoniwa) will you spend your evening?

Uji Shui Monogatari, Kawade Shobo Shinsha

A Trend That Never Changes

The Uji Shui Monogatari, A Collection of Tales from Uji (1221) originated from interesting tales written down by Minamoto no Takakuni during a summer retreat in Uji. Later, others gathered the stories that had been “leaked” or left out and added them to the collection. It contains about 200 tales written in Japanese, including folklore that survives to this day, such as “The Old Man with a Lump” and “The Straw Millionaire.” These short stories unfold one after another through a chain of associations.

They are silly and lacking in refinement. They are so vulgar, in fact, that laughter just bursts out of you. They are utterly farcical. The collection is overflowing with bizarre stories of people from every walk of life — from aristocrats and monks to commoners. It is the perfect cure for boredom and ideal for a summer retreat. One can laugh heartily in a cool spot during the height of summer, then return to society in early autumn with a poker face.

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Comedy has been in vogue for a long time now. The national stand-up competition, the M-1 Grand Prix, began in 2001. In recent years, American-style stand-up comedy has also been permeating Japan. I want to laugh — to roar with laughter. Against the hysteria of the city, workplace harassment, the creeping shadow of aging, tragic news, family complaints, and the sarcasm of friends — the only weapon we have is a burst of laughter. It takes a strong spirit to embrace the absurd, the truly absurd.

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Japan’s Acropolis and Your Own Miniature Garden

The attacks on Iran have begun. Regardless of whatever bombings were occurring outside, the Kyoto Gyoen National Garden remained in silence. From the relocation of the capital to Heian-kyo in 794 until the Meiji Restoration in 1868, the Emperor resided in the Imperial Palace, and the surrounding Gyoen flourished as a district for court nobles. After the capital moved to Tokyo, it was landscaped as a park and opened to the public. Anyone can enter, anytime, for free.

Kyoto Gyoen is the Acropolis and the Agora of Athens; the Imperial Palace is the Parthenon. Walking through them, I realize how small the ancient capitals were. Small was enough. Within that space, administration, religion, and art were all condensed.

Today, we have become a “metropolis.” While I seek the vestiges of the Gyoen in a nearby plum grove, overlaying Athens onto Kyoto, I keep a watchful eye on the breaking news. War, the rise of AI, the hegemony of superpowers and Big Tech… Where is the world headed? When will our daily lives crumble? I do not know. For now, I contemplate deeply what I want to do and who I want to be with, repeating my trials and errors.

Occasionally, visiting the Gyoen — a place that transcends time — allows my thoughts to come to a welcome halt. Museums, the stage, fine food and sake, incense, hot springs, and exercise all offer similar effects. Perhaps the healthiest way to live is to maintain a “personal, tiny Acropolis” — a miniature garden of one’s own — while keeping one’s gaze turned outward rather than inward. The plum blossoms are in full bloom, and tomorrow is the full moon. I think I’ll warm some sake.