I've been meaning to write a little about Admiral Takijiro Ohnishi for a few days now, a man I read about while rattling around my empty flat. Just the cats and I since my father's hospitalization. I'm almost addicted to reading, and I often do so late at night when loneliness finds it's way easily into the heart and mind. Television helps, too...perhaps less the mind than the heart. Admiral Ohnishi is known as the architect of the use of kamikazes in World War II. He committed ritual suicide (seppuku), and left a suicide note apologizing to the 4,000 or so kamikaze pilots. It's beautiful.
I tell the spirits of the kamikazes.
I thank you from my heart for your bravery.
Even though you believed in the final victory of Japan and died gracefully like cherry blossoms, Your faith has never been accomplished.
I apologize to the spirits of my men and their bereaved families with my death.
Next, I bid to all in Japan. It would be bliss if all of you realize that acting rashly and throwing your life away only profits your enemy, and decide with Faith to follow the sacred order of the Emperor his majesty, and endure the pain.
While enduring your pain, do not forget the pride to be Japanese.
You all are the treasure of the country.
Yet in this time of peace, embrace the spirit of kamikaze and do your best for the welfare of the Japanese race and for the Peace of all people around the world.
-Lieutenant General of the Navy Takijiro Onishi
So there are thoughts of death, romanticized and abstract and touching. There is also a closer manifestation of my awareness of my own mortality, and how my father is going to die someday. His latest hospital stay for pneumonia after abdominal aortic aneurysm surgery is terrifying. He is very confused from the anesthesia. I'm so scared.
This morning I summoned the courage to drive to the hospital, instead of just calling. I can't talk to him on the phone while he is in the Intensive Care Unit, anyway. But those who know me from Adam know that I don't have a good driving history. I "totalled" one car after having a petite seizure, and have been in several "fender benders." Strangely enough, I love to drive despite all that. The fear comes from getting into an accident in my father's car. I'd never forgive myself. But I sucked it up and went over there, no problems. I was surprised to find a new protocol in place in the ICU; before visiting my father I had to first put on a paper gown and latex gloves; he has pneumonia. He looks good, all things considered. Apparently the chest x-rays tell a different tale. They show mucus in his lungs that is tenacious. So now it's a matter of waiting for the antibiotics to work and the lungs to dry up. I'm optimistic, and I'm at ease knowing that he isn't in any pain.
I stayed with him for only about 30 minutes. He was trying to sleep and my presence seemed at best pointless. In my estimation, the most important part of a hospital visit just being there. He has to know that people care in general, and that I'm deeply concerned. Surely, during his brief period of being awake, he could see that.
The drive home, like the drive up, was fortunately uneventful. Terrifying, though.
So last night I was thinking about suicide. I'm convinced that my end will most likely come at my own hand, although I have no plans to do so. But I started to think, again, about which way would be best. I've tried pills twice, in earnest, and that obviously didn't work. That's not really relevant, though, but it is ironic that I read this poem around the same time I was thinking about how to off myself.
Today in bloom, tomorrow as scattered petals
Like a delicate flower, life is
How we could aspire this fragrance,
So transitory
To last forever?
- Yukio Mishima
Mishima is known for committing seppuku in 1970 after an attempt to bring back the Japanese Emperor via a coup. It was more of an artistic statement about the concept of Japanese honor than a real attempt to bring back the emperor, which was impossible. He planned his suicide, and wanted to bring about his death at the moment when his body was at it's most beautiful. He was a homosexual, a Japanese Nationalist, and one of the most important Japanese artists of the 20th century. His The Temple of the Golden Pavilion is some piece of work, I can tell you that. He felt that, through body sculpting and weight lifting, one could create a work of art out of one's body. The ultimate sacrifice to art is to kill oneself at the height of his beauty.
My body was never close to functioning well, and it has never been beautiful. My body should be celebrated for functioning at all, and my commitment to it represents my lack of vanity and my affinity for compassion. A celebration of imperfection!
Anyway, that's all I'm going to write for now. Linda is coming over later and hopefully I'll be in good spirits and make for decent company.
I tell the spirits of the kamikazes.
I thank you from my heart for your bravery.
Even though you believed in the final victory of Japan and died gracefully like cherry blossoms, Your faith has never been accomplished.
I apologize to the spirits of my men and their bereaved families with my death.
Next, I bid to all in Japan. It would be bliss if all of you realize that acting rashly and throwing your life away only profits your enemy, and decide with Faith to follow the sacred order of the Emperor his majesty, and endure the pain.
While enduring your pain, do not forget the pride to be Japanese.
You all are the treasure of the country.
Yet in this time of peace, embrace the spirit of kamikaze and do your best for the welfare of the Japanese race and for the Peace of all people around the world.
-Lieutenant General of the Navy Takijiro Onishi
So there are thoughts of death, romanticized and abstract and touching. There is also a closer manifestation of my awareness of my own mortality, and how my father is going to die someday. His latest hospital stay for pneumonia after abdominal aortic aneurysm surgery is terrifying. He is very confused from the anesthesia. I'm so scared.
This morning I summoned the courage to drive to the hospital, instead of just calling. I can't talk to him on the phone while he is in the Intensive Care Unit, anyway. But those who know me from Adam know that I don't have a good driving history. I "totalled" one car after having a petite seizure, and have been in several "fender benders." Strangely enough, I love to drive despite all that. The fear comes from getting into an accident in my father's car. I'd never forgive myself. But I sucked it up and went over there, no problems. I was surprised to find a new protocol in place in the ICU; before visiting my father I had to first put on a paper gown and latex gloves; he has pneumonia. He looks good, all things considered. Apparently the chest x-rays tell a different tale. They show mucus in his lungs that is tenacious. So now it's a matter of waiting for the antibiotics to work and the lungs to dry up. I'm optimistic, and I'm at ease knowing that he isn't in any pain.
I stayed with him for only about 30 minutes. He was trying to sleep and my presence seemed at best pointless. In my estimation, the most important part of a hospital visit just being there. He has to know that people care in general, and that I'm deeply concerned. Surely, during his brief period of being awake, he could see that.
The drive home, like the drive up, was fortunately uneventful. Terrifying, though.
So last night I was thinking about suicide. I'm convinced that my end will most likely come at my own hand, although I have no plans to do so. But I started to think, again, about which way would be best. I've tried pills twice, in earnest, and that obviously didn't work. That's not really relevant, though, but it is ironic that I read this poem around the same time I was thinking about how to off myself.
Today in bloom, tomorrow as scattered petals
Like a delicate flower, life is
How we could aspire this fragrance,
So transitory
To last forever?
- Yukio Mishima
 |
| A man's body as a work of art was something that Mishima felt strongly about. |
My body was never close to functioning well, and it has never been beautiful. My body should be celebrated for functioning at all, and my commitment to it represents my lack of vanity and my affinity for compassion. A celebration of imperfection!
Anyway, that's all I'm going to write for now. Linda is coming over later and hopefully I'll be in good spirits and make for decent company.
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