Pilgrimage

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

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Destination?  Naoshima.

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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?

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

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Yes.  I am treated as totally native here.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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His presence comforting, me.

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