My friend who always called the taxi company to make a reservation for early-morning pick-ups is no longer here to do so. And so last night I had to find the number in my phone that he had dialed six months ago, had to review the anticipated vocabulary, had to find the courage to hit the call button; and then slowly worked with the gentlemen on the other end, hoping that at 6am this morning our communication would have proven fruitful. But like so many magical things in Japan, the taxi was there, the driver standing outside, waiting for us when we walked out the door at 5:55am.
And then another goodbye. And another wake of a wave that is no longer here. People leave and how do we enfold the space that they opened? Maybe it's age, maybe it's the distance of Japan, maybe it's the time lapse such distance causes between encounters. The ocean seems far more vast and every wave seems both more trivial to its greatness and more integral to its existence. And together there is a rocking that comforts, that ensures an eternal return.