"Whisper of the Land"

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• “I will always be a traveler, on the way to somewhere.” — Ain’t that the truth? As far back as I can remember, I’ve had itchy feet.
• I also hitched across the States a couple of times in the 1970s. I had faith in the kindness of the universe (karma?) and was open to just about anything. Was blessed with nothing but good luck.
• A spiritual teacher told you, “A prophet is never accepted in his own hometown.” Of course, I’m no prophet, but I think the quote applies to many writers and artists, too. The most acidic reactions to my books have come from my hometown. Reminds me of the title of one of my early literary heroes — Thomas Wolfe’s You Can’t Go Home Again.
• Loved your description of the obaa-chan resurrecting her field’s soil for summer veggies.
• References to authors and musicians I also admire — Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Hesse, Lafcadio Hearn, Doi Takeo
• Among the many passages that resonated deeply are those on page 67: “On my way to the castle, I have lived in a van, in a coastal pine forest, cabins in the woods, cheap apartments, run-down rental houses, and a hundred-year-old, traditional Japanese country house. I have slept wrapped in plastic, on hard floors, under trees, beneath the porch of a pub, in city parks, on rock cliffs, and in a few women’s beds.” Like you, I often think of homeless people and my good fortune on the many roads that have led to this moment. I never thought I’d own a house, let alone one in Japan, and I feel eternally grateful for all that has transpired here to allow that to happen.
• The advice of not asking “Why did this happen to me?” but rather “Where is destiny leading me?”
• Yes, like it was for many other young people who hit the road in the 1970s to find themselves, it turned out to be a fine alternative education for me. I'm still putting many of those lessons to practical use.
• My marriage, too, was a simple affair of going to the local city hall and affixing our hanko seals to some bureaucratic documents. My local softball buddies, however, all pitched in and threw a wild and crazy party to celebrate. Wonderful memories and a reminder that even though I was something of “a foreign weed,” they still accepted me as a part of their community.
• “How nice it was to sit at night and write in a paper notebook in the days before personal computers.” That sentence took me back to my first few years in Japan, living in a ramshackle, two-room apartment with a small squat toilet and no bath. I filled dozens of notebooks with random thoughts, descriptions of people and places, and a lot of Japanese kana practice.
• That leads me to how much I enjoyed the chapter CLEANLINESS vs GODLINESS. When I lived in the above apartment, I always went to the local sento, which cost only about 50 yen in those days. It turned out to be a kind of Japanese classroom for me. I was the lone foreigner and all the older bathers were very curious about and patient with me. I loved that bathhouse and all the regulars who were so kind.
• I also like the phrase ichi-go, ichi-e and try my best to live each moment with that in mind.
• Throughout the book, your descriptions of various characters are heart-warming, but I liked the “granny” descriptions best, especially the ones about giving lifts to those obaa-chan plodding along on country roads.
• The epilogue provided a wonderful ending. Two sentences stick in my mind: the one when you were sitting in a New York coffee shop and realized that you “felt like a visitor in my country of origin” and the one where you wrote “I didn’t become Japanese; my adventures in Japan became a part of me.” I’ve had the exact same thoughts at different times.

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