Yesterday we left Tokyo, and began a long journey to the Seto Sea.


Destination?  Naoshima.


The journey included 3 trains, 1 ferry and a shuttle bus.  It required collaborative effort, stamina, and some degree of spoken Japanese.  Sumimasen, kore densha wa, Uno e ikun desuka?


Do the Japanese think you are one of them?  Amy asked me today.


Yes.  I am treated as totally native here.


Lost in Translation moments?  Not quite, even though my language ability kind of sucks.  It’s been a long while since I’ve spoken so much Japanese.  I’m finding my voice, softening.


A pilgrimage is a journey we make to honour that we believe in.  As we got closer to the coast, we passed little villages and towns.  My heart felt free.


When we finally arrived at Uno, that sneaky thing called Grief, reared its head, reminding me that the last time I stepped onto a rocking boat, was in March, to conclude my late grandmother’s journey.

But, as he did then, he continues to do now.


His presence comforting, me.





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