The earth refused to hold steady this week.  For the first time in many months if not more than a year our cellphones went off warning of an imminent earthquake.  The first large one struck the island of Miyakejima about 180 kilometers south west of Tokyo.  In fact it’s jurisdiction still falls under the government of Tokyo.   By the time the seismic waves reached us the only sensation I felt was a bit of rolling in my home.

Other shakers followed throughout the week with large ones in the Fukushima area, a 7.0 off the coast of the most norther part of Hokkaido, and one just last night on the tip of Chiba prefecture in Choshi.  Way to close for comfort.

On top of all the shaking we have all the turmoil in Boston.  Reading though the comments on some of the news websites, reflect such hatred.  Where my physically body has been rocked by the constant movement of the earth, my soul was feeling the weight of unfolding events.

Now, it is Shabbat.  It is a time to rest the physical and the spiritual.  It is the time that has been given to us to recoup the spirit.  A chance to shake off the troubles and reinvest in our faith.  Our spirits our tried on a daily basis, use the time we have been given to reflect upon the week, and give thanks that we are still here.

shabbat shalom to all

Eating my breakfast at 7 (6 pm the previous day on the east coast) in the morning in Tokyo I saw Boston’s horror.  Violence has never sits well with me.  I am an emotional empathetic being much in the way of “He Who Feels It, Knows It.”  I’ll admit to being moved to tears when faced with some of the horrors of the world.

My heart is heavy when I witness hate inspired destruction.  It is immaterial whether that hate is against governments, people, or religions.  Hate is hate.

I recall a memory soon after NYC’s 911 when a dear Japanese friend asked me if I feel more when my people, Americans, are victims of hate.  I answered, “no.”  I feel pain whenever I encounter death, destruction and hatred.  I am not sure if it was a conscious decision on my part or if it is my soul speaking to my heart.

There may have been a time in my life when I would have been more moved by the deaths of my countrymen, but that no longer holds true.  How can we as people that inhabit planet earth learn to respect each other, when we constantly label what we don’t understand as other.

Our physical vessels are on this plane of reality for a blink of time.  Why do we choose hate?  Why do he make the choice to disregard other sentinel beings as other, only good to be thrown out with the trash.

We need to be thankful for the life we have been given.  When darkness enters into our lives we need to shine the light higher and brighter.  We need to lend a hand to our brother and sisters regardless of who they may be.

The only way we can conquer hate, is by employing love.  Love yourself first, then learn to love others.  Seek the beauty and the light the creator has given us.  Use our hearts to extinguish the ignorant fears that drive souls to hate.

Our time we are granted by the Most High is precious, let us not waste it with hatred, but we should fill life with love.  The cherry blossoms have come.  Their beauty delighted us that spring has arrived,  now they lie drying, becoming one with the earth from where they came.

Let these two events remind us of the beauty out there.  The love for nature, and the love shown towards complete strangers as people rushed in to help those in need.  We are our brothers keepers, we must be there to support those worst off at all times.

Love over hate.

There is a huge swath of Tokyo that lays unexplored to me, and in some ways might as well be on another island.  It is Ikebukuro and its surrounding neighborhoods.  Ikebukuro is one of the urban hubs of Tokyo but it lays far from my home and I have only scratched the surface or this neighborhood.

I met up with an old mate for lunch at a kaiten sushi restaurant.  It was only a few blocks from the the Ikebukuro labyrinth.  The lunch itself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary but the conversation with my mate had me in stitches.

After lunch we made our way back to his old 2-story Showa era apartment.  We cut a cross a large cemetery to get there.  I was quite surprised to find that the area was quite old and there were some beautiful Showa style homes in the area.  Lots of small gated homes and apartment buildings that only were two stories in height.

It is an area I need to explore more.  It just proves my point that even after so many years here in Tokyo, I still feel like I only know bits and pieces of the city.  The more I know, the more I realize I actually don’t know.

This is the week that the youth of Japan return to school, and if they have already graduated it is the month when new recruits head off to their new jobs. Today in many ways felt like spring.  The morning air was dry and a bit on the cool side for my taste, but it was only a few beats away from a warmer afternoon.

The crossing guards were out in force today making sure that all the little ones made it safely to their classrooms.  They were stationed at busy intersections and crosswalks near schools.  They will soon be replaced by volunteer PTA moms.  For most it is the true beginning of the year.  A chance to make a new path.  A chance to become what they want.

As the day progresses so did the forcefulness of the gusty winds.  They have been steadily increasing in power that I felt if I had a bat cape I could have glided all the way home.

The earth’s cycles cannot be stopped.  The wind will blow the petals from the cherry blossoms, and the dandelions will become puffs balls of seeds scattered across Japan.

There are always storms in life.  Some of them you feel them coming in the depth of your soul.  There is a drop in the weather, unusual cloud form on the horizons, and the wind whips though.  Other times, there is no warning.  One minute you are on a hill enjoying the sunshine, and in a flash the heavens open rain falls and you feel like Noah’s neighbors, unprepared for the storm.

Our spirit and physical bodies need to be in sync.  The more we tune in to the turmoil the more we can be at peace when the unexpected arrives.  To be able to appreciate and love the silence as much as we may fear the storm.

There is enough trouble in the world that we do not need to be out creating storms of our own.  Look for the silence.  Let your spirit seek the peace.

Shalom

Peace

平和

I was fortunate to be a part of PATH’s (Preserving Archiving and Teaching Hip Hop) workshop at Edison Public Library in the heart of Little Haiti for Black History Month.  PATH instructor, Natty, was running the workshop on rhyming.

The youth gathered around a table in the back of the library surrounded by books to listen and participate in a presentation on the elements of Hip Hop.  All of the workshop students, except for one, native language was Haitian Creole.

After the presentation the students were handed out a copy of KRS ONE’s You Must Learn‘s lyrics.  The students worked in pairs and underlined the rhyming words and looked at the rhyming patterns.  The next step the students worked on a rhyming hook on the theme of Haiti.  Natty encouraged the youth to use some Haitian Creole in the hook in order to connect with their Haitian roots. After the hook was written, the students again broke back into pairs and each pair wrote two lines of a rhyme on the theme of Haitian freedom.

the hook the workshop wrote is as follows:

     What you see don’t define me

     I will not stop even if you hold me

     I fought for justice and avec liberté 

     Our pouvoir will last for éternité

It was wonderful to watch the students open up and share their life and watch them smile as they all sung the hook.  PATH is out in the community using the elements of Hip Hop as an in to teach life skills to the youth.

Every summer PATH runs a 2 or 4 week program at the Miami Light Box where the youth are instructed in the elements:  Emeceeing, Djaying, B-boying, and Urban Art.  For more information on PATH please visit www.pathtohiphop.org and you can join them on their Facebook group and on Twitter.

I also cut a short video of the workshop for PATH.

About two weeks ago back in Miami I started to get a bit nervous as my friends started posting about the wonderful cherry blossoms they were experiencing in Japan.  I had to take a deep breath thinking that this could be the fist time since moving to Japan when I would miss the cherry blossoms.

On average, from what I have gathered, the blossoms arrived about 2-3 weeks earlier than usual.  Would I miss the official arrival of spring as heralded by the tiny flowers?  Fortunately for my mind’s grace and the powers greater than my own the little wonders continued to hang on after I had arrived back in Tokyo.

I desperately wanted to go out with the crowds on Sunday to catch the last of the weekend hanami (flower watching) parties but I was kept shut in by rain, cold, and jet lagged induced narcolepsy.  The weather had cleared up substantially by Monday to the point where I was able to ride my cycle and explore the Ichikawa streets.

The crowds were already gone except for a small group of women and children here and there enjoying the last of the flowers.  Retirees were still out with their tripods and ultra lenses waiting for that decisive moment, and then there was me.  Stepping through the streets and temples with nothing but my little Ricoh GR.

I am thankful to the creator for allowing me to witness the spring with my eyes and heart.  The coming of spring is special amongst all people.  It is the beginning of the year that is commemorated with the keeping of passover in the faith of my ancestors.  Here in Japan it is also the mark of the new year.  The youth will start their new grades by the second week of april just as the last of the blossoms are drifting off the trees.

The blossoms signal new times.  There are new hopes that blossom quickly that if one chooses to pursue will transform into  fruit.

The cherry blossoms are only here for a short time.  Enjoy them before they are washed out into Tokyo Bay.

While most of the spring breakers descended on Miami’s South Beach to burn themselves to a crisp, drink themselves into oblivion, and dress up for hunting the opposite sex, we choose to visit a park that I had only once have a memory of.

That park is Oleta State Park.  It is Oleta State Park just of the NE 163 Street right before you go over the bridge to get to North Miami Beach.  This park was fist settled by indians as a fishing village.  The urbanites head out here and rumble over the mountain bike paths.

We didn’t jump on bikes, we just wandered around the trails.  My father even found a kite which we played with for a little while.

I am back in Tokyo, and now is the time to sort through all my images and let them tell their story.  This is the first one

Miami will always be the land of my physical birth.  It is the land where I played on the citrus trees in my backyard, drank warm water from the garden hose, and learned to drive on the backroads all the way down to Homestead.  I couldn’t wait to go away to university to get as far away from Miami as I could.  I felt like Miami was a cultural dead end.

That has all changed.  I really only knew Miami from the point of view of a few selective neighborhoods I would wander around, and the horror of the nightly news.  Now I just adore the light.  The sun hid behind the clouds until it bursted out around 6 p.m. today.  The light was so intense that I had to wear shades, but I don’t mind it now.  The light was just gorgeous.

I sat with my family along the Miami River at Garcia’s eating some freshly caught fish chatting with my parents and looking out over the city as the sun inched towards the horizon.  I thought about how much the city has changed since I was a youth.  Buildings have come and gone.  Trees have been blown away by hurricane force winds.  The language heard in the streets has added Haitian Creole.  One thing has remained constant over all this time the amazing beauty of light that the Most High has blessed Miami with.  The light is there beating down on my skin and tinting all I see since before I even knew about the qualities of light.

Thank you Miami for keeping somethings the same.

The artist Trek 6, with his painting of Gandhi

I was so joyous that I was able to catch my good mate’s solo show Through the Looking Glass.  The paintings were all painted with only spray paint.  All of the portraits were of historical and cultural significance like that of Gandhi, DMC (from Run DMC), Andy Warhol, along with many other.  Each detailed painting measured about 4 foot squared.

I was so captured by looking at the way Trek 6 layers the paint to sculpt the images.  I found myself staring into the paintings looking at the tiniest of details.  I mentally dived into the one Trek 6 painted of Sammy Davis Jr.  The way in which he two dimensionally carved the sideburns fascinated me.  I stood there in front of the painting just in amazement at Trek 6’s skill with a spray can

The party was a blast too.  Old skool hip hop music was spun that the crowd just vibed to.  Tracks by KRS ONE, A Tribe Called Quest, and of course RUN DMC.  The art patrons wandered through the gallery space and out onto a back patio where Trek 6 had also painted a huge mural as homage to the eternal B-boy including an throwback hat decked out with 6s for a pattern.

There was also a reunion of the three original Plan Be members.  Actually, they first were called The 3 Wise Men.  The members were Trek 6, Sweetpea, and Brimstone127 (who at the time went just by Brim).  It was great to see all three together at one time.

I got to give a big shout out to Trek’s wife Lizzie who not only helped out to put on a lovely show, but also opened her home to me so that I could print out my photographs for the PATH fundraiser last Saturday.

There is some is some amazing art being created in Miami now.  It has come a long way since I grew up in Miami that had about as much of an art scene as Topeka, Kansas.

Check out Trek’s Facebook page.

Trek 6, Sweetpea, and Brimstone127 (original Plan Be line up)

Self portrait in front of Trek 6’s painting of DMC

Detail of the B-boy mural on the patio

Tawk Love in character, by Jacob Schere

What does a slave revolt leader, a slave teaching other slaves to read, and a Jew on the run for teaching others how to make Molotov cocktails all have in common?  On first observation it would seem like there is no connection, but this is not the case. Check the rhymes and the beats for a further exploration.

Under the creative visual direction of Tawk Love I witnessed two of the video shoots for the slamming new I’m a Soldier video featuring Tawk Love, Mecca, Kimani aka Dirty Sandwich and Brimstone127.  I joyfully glad to be able to lend a hand on the set as we wandered through thick mangroves filming the Brimstone127 segment.   I watched Tawk Love as he was transformed into a warrior angel who stood guard watching over the city.

The music is smooth.  The message is rough served with a heaping helping of truth.  Check the video.  Watch it again and meditate on the lyrical content.

We are ALL soldiers.  We just have to decide which side we are soldiering for.

Brimstone127 in character, by Jacob Schere

Mecca in character, photo by Tawk Love

Kimani in character, photo by Tawk Love

Video Directed and edited by Tawk Love

There should always be time set aside everyday to be thankful for all that we have.  A quiet time to reflect on the day and to give thanks for being given the opportunity to explore the Creators universe.

I stood on the windswept sands of Miami South Beach I couldn’t help but think that these same waves came all the way from Africa.  Moreover, the waves could have passed though the Rock of Gibraltar in the Mediterranean on the way from the edge of Israel.  Just a five minute walk from the craziness of spring break revealers I found the beach deserted and I could be alone in my meditations.

I turned around to view the sun setting behind the art deco hotels on Collins Avenue.  An amazing display of G-d’s wonder was on display in the sky.  The light danced as the thin clouds streaked across fields of blue.

I am thankful for all the the Most High, Abba, has done for me.

Take the time to be thankful.  Thank all that service you.  Remember to thank the Creator for letting us to continue to explore this universe.

The roots run deep in this North Miami neighborhood.  There are churches on every other corner.  There is one that has been frozen in mid construction.  The roots of the community seep deep into the shallow sandy earth.

The  creole speaking neighbors all greet us as we walk down the street at dusk.  The neighborhood may not be the most wealthily but all of them have real wealth.  They love their community and have respect for each other.  This is the way life is suppose to be.

G-d is with us if we allow G-d into our lives.  Only if we make room in our lives for him will we know what love actually is.  We have to be open to the love, and the reminders that we are shown every day.  These reminders are our daily bread.

Two years ago to the day Japan suffered its worst disaster since World War II.  Lives were changed forever on that day when the earth shook, the ocean reared, and man’s quest for power was out of control.  I was not in Japan at the time of the Tohoku triple disaster, but living though the aftershocks and the recovery changed the way in which I have chosen to interact with the world.

The earth never is truly settled.  The surface where humans have made their home is alive.  The plates shift and everything that we had could be lost in an instant.

I want to remember those that lost everything, those that perished, and those that scarred people’s memory.

On this the 2nd year anniversary I ask all those that can to pause and reflect on their lives.  Tell those around you how special they are.  Let them know from your soul that you love them.  On March 11, 2013, remember those that are no longer here, and those whose lives changed forever on that terrible day.

peace

shalom

平和

Homestead was always my escape.  It was where I would go to escape the hectic streets of Miami.  I would jump in my toaster on wheels and head south through the Redlands and into Homestead.  My camera a Nikon FG usually rode shotgun on these little adventures.

I could unwind on those backroads where the acres outnumbered the homes by a factor of 10.  In those wide open spaces I would park my car on the side of the road, look through the viewfinder and wait for the click.

When Hurricane Andrew hit in 1992 it erased most of Homestead from the map.  The streets and corners I used to know as a teenager no longer existed.  Most of the greening has come back, but those tree, corners, I knew by heart are no longer there.

The land of Homestead will stretch forever.