weeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Here on Kaminomine Bichi, on Tokunoshima Island (some 20 hours by ferry from mainland) I am drawn to write. I finished work early today and took the opportunity to go for a nice bike ride to the beach. Biking on the country roads singing aloud along with the tunes on my ipod,　Ｉ meet the gawking eyes of children fresh out of school with silly faces and correctly pronounced "konichiwa!"'s. This beach is a special beach. It is accessed by a long dirt road that comes equipped with two killer dogs ready to tear flesh at a moments notice with their killer jaws. Every time I come here I try to think of new ways to outwit them and pass unscathed. Today I thought I could soundlessly creep by, ready to bolt if the time came. I was wrong-as if they could smell my cockiness-they were waiting for me. I zoomed past them, but not without bellowing a primal scream that fueled my escape to the beach. Ah, yes, living on the edge-what a great cardiovascular workout.
Finally on the beach. No one is here, or ever is, except for the lone fisherman wading out in the shallow water along the reef. I walk along the water on a wide white band of coral, hearing it sing under my feet like the dirty dishes of the Mad Dutchess (and if you can tell me where that reference is from, ill send you a prize). My favorite spot is some 20 minutes from where I left my bike. It allows me enough time to meander though the tide pools in the seaweed-covered reef, and investigate the spotted, spikey, and slimey things, as I listen to the snap, crackle, and pop of the exposed shellfish reluctantly handing over their beloved sea water to the thirsty sun.
Where the hell am I? I ask myself this question often. I can accurately point out on a map the pimple of land Im sitting on, but no matter how many hours I spend staring at the sea, I cannot SENSE my displacement on the globe as one can sense from the popping of their ears that they are moving underground on the LIRR from Jamaica, Queens bound for Penn Station. And at this point in my inner dialogue, I usually settle for the answer "I am here, wherever I am."
And just what have I been doing here? Im glad you asked. I am staying with a jolly woman named Noriko. We enjoy cooking for each other and exchanging language lessons. Every Monday evening, in the dining room of her home, I lead an English class for four lovely ladies. They are in their 50s and 60s, and are eager to learn
English. As one woman put it, "I want to keep my mind active so I dont go senile." Their favorite phrase to use in class whenever they draw a blank is "I am having a senior moment." Cute. By day I work with Mr. and Mrs. Azuma on their carrot and sugar cane farms. Azuma-san and I also exchange language lessons on the field. When the weather is nice he will bring his Shamisen-a 3-stringed traditional Japanese instrument close to the banjo-and sing me old folk songs from Okinawa. Three days a week we are joined by four ladies, each steadily climbing into their late 80s. They speak a native island dialect unique to Tokunoshima, and not a lick of Japanese. We work rain or shine, and its usually raining. Im out there in my white rubber boots and rain suit trying to stay relatively clean, and the ladies are practically rolling in the mud. When we convene at tea-time and lunch, they love to giggle at me with their shining gums, occasionally punctuated by a gnarly chunk of enamel-the trophies of their remaining youth. It is not uncommon for people their age to be working. They grow 'em old here, averaging in the high 90s and up when they pass on. In fact, the oldest man to ever live lived up the road from my house (everywhere is up the road). On his final day he was clocked at an impressive 120 years and 237 days.
My days are filled with laughter. Second only to bullfighting, laughing is this island's favorite pastime. Life is slow and easy. Dont get me wrong, I break a sweat everyday, bit its always paired with tea and snacks. Tea-Time is the best part of the day...
With sugar cane being this island's major crop, there is an abundance of sweetness. They produce "black sugar" which is raw, unrefined dark brown sugar that is pressed into thick sheets and then crumbled in bags to sell on the mainland. Apparently it contains many minerals. People eat it raw throughout the day and use it liberally in their cooking. Mmm. And here I am thinking this is as sweet as life gets - with unlimited 'cane, giggling elders, live folk music on the farm...but then again life is full of surprises.
Being here (wherever that is) is like laying back in the hammock of IS-ness, swaying to the breath of God.
pictures come soon…
Love and Light.

staring at the sea. we went to this small strip of pebbled beach to collect driftwood for firewood. the beach is littered with discarded remnants of slippers and shoes brought in from the typhoons from japan, taiwan and the phillipines. so many slippers.

deep in the island. this is not my picture, i found it on the web. but i thought it did the island justice.

approaching the island from the ferry

A day in the Island life...

After one 15 hour ferry, a 3 hour bus, another 10 hour ferry, and an hour drive, I find myself in the village of Onoaida, on the small island of Yakushima. Its located in a series of islands about 110km south of the southern most tip of Kyushu (the south main island). Its 7:30am and i need a shower and breakfast. I cook my new host, Rainer-san, and my new roomate, Kyoko breakfast - Mountain toast (one-eyed-jack, egg in a hole, yoni bread, etc...). It was a first for them and they loved it. The host gives me a brief tour around the property. Just the view from his house is well worth the 28 hour journey here.
To the north is the mountain. The few mountain peaks tower over the coastline, green and dramatic, as if in a hurry, the earth climbed straight to the sky to flirt with the clouds. To the south about 50m and 50m down a steep cliff is the cost, jagged, calloused and alive. There is no beach, just giant and ancient statements of lava jutting out of the ocean. And beyond the igneous guardians of the sea is the unending blue horizon. Ive lived near the ocean all of my life, but ive never seen one that strechted to far, so wide, so blue. There are supossed to be more islands out there, but i dont believe it to be so. Between the mountain and the sea rolls a dense subtropical forest. Always green, but not too tall - the annual typhoons make sure of it. Small villages make their home on the narrow bits of flat land the mountain left it its wake.
So here i am.
In the mornings i work in the garden. The noon bell relieves me from the sun to go and make a hearty lunch of freshly picked greens, beans, and carrots. The one oclock bell nudges me back out. Sometimes i`ll take a siesta and climb down the cliff side to swim in the ocean. There is no shallow ground so i wait, squatting on a rock, for a wave to come in so I can jump into it. With the borrowed goggles, i see the dark ocean bottom some 30m below me. I feel so small as the waves whip me back and forth. Underwater, the rock face wear`s the birghtly colored corals, sponges, and slimey things like a mask. On days when the water is too rough ill jump into one of the many natural hot springs. some are tucked in a hollowed out boulder on the ocean, some in the forest. Out of the water, and back up the cliff, i finish up in the garden. in the two weeks i was in Japan before i cam here, i had yet to see an insect . It was nice at first, but quickly became bizarre. In the garden i am facsinated by all of the crawly things new to me. My attention focuses on two giant green grasshopers mating. The male is perched on top doing all the work as the female is chomping away at a juicy piece of leaf. Typical.
The 3 oclock bell sounds from the hidden speakers in the trees. The Administration plays a song that leads a midday exercise. Apparently all of the workers in the island take a 5 minute break to stretch along with the strangely pleasant voice instructing them to do so. Although i was too young to remember, i am reminded of 1984. In a few more hours the work is done and the host takes me for a drive. We pass through the town (the 3 stores). Let us not forget that a tiny and remote Japanese island would not be complete without its fair share of vending machines! Anyway, he is a bee keeper and we go to check on his hives that are scattered out over several small fields. I stand back and watch him, barehandedly, check each box for new queen cells. There should only be one cell per hive, or else the bees will leave with the new queen to find a new hive.. He locates a few and plucks them out. We enjoy the yogurt like royal jelly fresh from the cell on the ride home. Its a bit sour with grassy overtones, but does the trick - i felt like a queen.
Back at the house i climb to the roof to watch the sunset, catch a last glimpe of the ocean and write a little before its time to make dinner. Tonight we make soup with freshly caught Aji (spanish mackeral) from the market, garden veggies, a side of rice and a salad. Kyoko and i make some tea and watch one of her many videos on Ramtha. Theres nothing like a dose of channeled wisdom before i hit the sack. Slipping off, the motion picture show on the back of my eyelids displays tomorrows adventure jam packed with monkeys, giant spiders, swinging from vines, hiking alond the river up the mountain, hot springs...

This was one of the kids that was on the first ferry with me. I showed them a card trick and that was the end of me, they wouldnt leave me alone all night. More card tricks! more games! they could play Go Fish all night long. The boy in the picture and i played rock paper scissors, and i will gladly admit, he beat me every time. In the morning when i woke up (i was in a shared room that fit 15 other women and children) the children ran over to me with cards and toys. i pretended like i went back to sleep, but they just poked away. Kawai ("cute" in japanese).