During Hanami season in Japan, people drop what they are doing and succumb in awe while nature mysteriously wraps the world in a delicate day-lit scherenschnitte blanket. White, pink, lavender, the blossoms exert a exquisitely irresistible pressure to pay attention. At night, moon, stars, and paper lanterns transform the sprays into earth's fireworks.
Later on Monday, NPR announced that Tokyo Governor Ishishihara had banned hanami parties this year. Ishihara made news a couple of weeks ago by invoking the ancient Buddhist concept of tembatsu, heavenly punishment, in this case the Governor said, for egoism. In prewar Japan, the judgement of heaven rested on the people's willingness to sacrifice individual needs and desires for community goals. (Interestingly different from Chinese culture's "mandate of heaven" which rests on the ruler's responsibility to attend to the welfare of the people.) He has retracted his statements, affirming compassion for those who had suffered the earthquake and tsunami's devastation.
Unlike ume (plum blossom) viewing parties, which tend to be more sedate, sakura (cherry) blossom parties unleash silliness and spring exhuberance. This year, walking under unlit lanterns hanging in the cherry boughs, people spoke of the poignant absense of light. Yozakura, evening viewing parties are more an observation than a celebration this year. And yet the beauty endures and comforts, connecting souls at a level deeper than words.
In a nation turned toward rebuilding, toward hope, the blossoms provide a wordless way to touch inexpressible loss and grief.
In a nation turned toward rebuilding, toward hope, the blossoms provide a wordless way to touch inexpressible loss and grief.
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