Spring, 2019. In the transcendental moments where one confronts the fragility of life, impermanence of world and fickleness of humans, nothing offers greater comfort than the empathy of philosophy and company of nature, experienced in solitude. As the moon springs to its voluptuous fullness in the spring night sky, I sit on the banks of river Ookagawa in Gumyoji, watching the sakura petals dance in mad joy to kiss the stream gently, onward to an unknown hydrospheric end.

The moon, a white pearl midst the pink haze. A cup of Sake beneath the Cherry Trees. I open the can of I sake I had bought earlier in the evening. The Buddhist monk Kenko must have come up with the title of his diary, quite literally about 700 years ago, I wonder as I raise a toast to the moon peeking through the blossoms that still hold dearly to the boughs: “To life, death and beyond!”

“..summer’s cicada knows neither spring nor autumn. What a glorious luxury it is to taste life to the full for even a single year. If you constantly regret life’s passing, even a thousand long years will seem but the dream of a night”, Kenko wrote. Human beings perhaps have a strange red thread connecting through life and death- why else would a monk philosophize inside my head 700 years after his death! Oh death- that’s what has been bugging me. In the land of sushi, this vegetarian bipedal life form has been facing existential crisis of the inexplicable kind. Will I perish like a cicada? Whether it is my failing health or lack of making headway with graduation thesis that has hurled me into the throes of dealing with this unfathomable abyss, I cannot say. I watch the petals fall, and float adrift, quite like my life. The susurration of the river endlessly whispers cryptic secrets. A vacuum holds me in a trance; even before I can come up with some original musings to scribble in my diary, the last drop of sake brings me to an unsated halt. However, a sense of calm sets in after this night time cherry blossom view, or as the Japanese term it – Yozakura. Maybe the spring can heal me, I tell myself: to Tokyo, with the dawn. I take my own sweet Hanami time to walk and gaze vacuously at Sakura blossoming at their peak, along Meguro River. About a thousand trees stand brushed with a divine palette of pink shades, reaching out to a sky smudged in silver-blue grey. Heavens cry at this beauty- a soft drizzle, a caressing spring breeze. Petals spiral all around, the path transforms into a pink carpet, while the river animates into a flowerbed. Streets buzz with people trying to soak in the beauty of everything. It won’t last forever, nothing ever will. Oh, this moment in all its life, surrealness and divinity, is all mine to behold through my eyes and mine to hold in my heart. The light showers, the pastel flowery mist, the blooming stream- a miraculous moment – somewhere, spring becomes me. In all its liveliness, life as long as it exists should be held on to just like this beatific moment.

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Despite its meteoric modernization, Japan has two-thirds of its land preserved under forest cover. The ethos of Shinto, Japan’s ancient religion worships nature’s spirits ‘kami’. This reverence is not only rooted in sense of awe, but also in submission to the might of nature, as Japan is prone to natural calamities.

Shinrin yoku or forest bathing was officially coined as a term in 1982 by Tomohide Akiyama under a national health program. It was introduced with the aim to attract people to the forests of Japan. Its holistic interpretation encompasses the art of reconnecting with nature- experiencing green spaces through our senses, building nature related hobbies, taking green micro-breaks and mindful contemplation of nature are ways to do so.

The practice of this reconnection has always been prevalent in Japanese lifestyle and evident in art forms. The haiku in its quintessential form contains a unique “kigo” – a keyword that captures the season’s unique representation. The flower arrangement art of ‘ikebana’ and ‘bonsai’ bring the spirit of forests to one’s home.

The Japanese buildings embody natural connect in their wooden structures, with ‘mottainai’ environmentalism and minimalism. They humbly blend with the natural settings, rather than standing out. Shinto shrines dedicated to the spirits of nature ‘kami’ are often in middle of verdant forests or groves. The Zen gardens in their design are inspired from natural landscapes to provide right environment for meditation and contemplation. Even in megapolis like Tokyo, the green lungs of Yoyogi park, Imperial Garden, Todoroki valley and Shinjuku Koen aim to balance the Shinrin yoku spririt with urbanization. These spots are perfect for Hanami sessions, which is a centuries-old tradition where the Japanese spend quality time with family and friends under cherry blossoms. They offer a spectral shift of mind and space, slowing down the pace of life right in the middle of urban buzz. This is also a bridge to experiencing yugen- sense of wonder, beauty and mystery of nature and life.

The realization of therapeutic effect of natural surroundings gradually inspired scientific research on it. Scientists found that practicing shinrinyoku reduces stress and anxiety, improved over all emotion state& sleeping and strengthened NK cell activity, responsible for immunity. The Forest therapy study group of Japan has even designed specific trails for holistic shinrin yoku experience.

Somewhere in our submission to mechanization and modernization, we have veered toward alienation from nature. Japan’s greatest anime director Hayao Miyazaki has depicted this loss in movies like Pom Poko and Princess Mononoke. The practice of shinrinyoku is a mindful act to make up for this loss.

“A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare”, wrote Davies.

We ought to find the time to save our poor lives, dear fellow humans.

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