Praise for the rain that waters our fields, and blesses our crops so all the earth yields; from death unto life her mystery revealed springs forth in joy! – The Heavens are Telling the Glory of God
When you arrive in Hakone from Taipei or Paris or Ocala or Berlin or Palo Alto or whichever city you’re from, you’ll look around and marvel at the lush landscape. You’ll walk to the tourist information booth right outside the train station and get as many pamphlets as you can to find out what you should do and see in Hakone. You’ll thank the very kind Japanese woman for her vibrant “Hello” and answer her polite, “May I ask you where you’re from?” You’ll walk to your small ryokan or large hotel in the rain that falls through the sunshine, and you won’t mind, because you’ll know in your heart that things just don’t get as green as they do in Hakone without a little bit of rain everyday. You’ll smile and wave at the old people who smile and wave at you. You’ll carry a smile on your face, all day, attributable to the old man who leaned out of his top window to catch your attention. You’ll wonder how people live to what seems like a 109 in Hakone. (After your dinner of steamed foods and no trans fats you’ll wonder no more but wonder how you can live here too). You’ll calculate how much money you’d need to live the life you’ve imagined (It may round up to $170 a day).
Praise for the wind that blows through the trees, the seas’ mighty storms, the gentlest breeze; they blow where they will, they blow where they please to please the Lord!
You’ll buy a Hakone Free Pass so that you can ride the bus, the cable car, and even the ropeway, though you’re afraid of heights. As you wind through the mountains, you’ll recall other countries that you may have visited: maybe Jamaica, maybe Brazil, maybe South Africa. You’ll think “I’ve seen such wonders, such beauty, but wow, I’ve never seen this.” You’ll be thankful to take each breath. You’ll see trees that are as tall as small skyscrapers and then it’ll strike you, as nature always does– “I’m but a speck in this universe.” You’ll think what can I ever create that could make me feel the way this view does? You’ll realize that the answer’s “Nothing,” and you’ll be fine with that. You’ll smile inside. You’ll see craters in mountains from volcanic eruptions that happened thousands of years before Christ; you’ll feel like you’re in Babel walking up a mountain where a multitude of languages are swirling in and out of your ears; you’ll take a sightseeing cruise that’s too short, and you wish to go around again, but you must sail off into the air in an aerial tram; too far above sea level, you may wonder if wires ever snap on these things, but you’ll look at your fellow passengers who’re quite calm and thus you’ll calm down; you’ll eat two eggs that have black shells because they’ve been boiled in hot sulfur springs. You’ll believe the idea that you’ve added fourteen years to your life, and start planning what to do in those extra years. You’ll decide that you may have to move to Hakone, because that’s the only place in the world where people will be as old as you’ll be.
Praise for the sun, the bringer of day, he carries the light of the Lord in his rays; the moon and the stars who light up the way unto your throne!
It will stop raining. You’ll be as content with the sun as you were with the rain. You’ll decide to go to your ryokan after a few hours of sightseeing, so that you can be pampered as you deserve. You’ll be hungry and want sustenance, but when twelve small dishes are brought to you in succession, you’ll wonder if you could possibly eat all that food. You’ll surprise yourself because of course you can. You’ll finish with many “Arigato Gozaimasus,” and go to your room where you’ll find that they’ve laid out a new yukata for you, given you a new yellow towel, a new washcloth, and a new toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste. You’ll look at your towel and think, “Well, it’s only 8p.m., I should go downstairs to the hot spring bath that’s open until midnight.” You’ll soak in the onsen (hot springs) for about thirty minutes, and though the pool is shallow, you’ll pretend to swim. You’ll feel like a child and an adult all at once.
Praise for the fire who gives us his light, the warmth of the sun to brighten our night; he dances with joy, his spirit so bright, he sings of you!
You’ll be thankful for every breath in your body. You’ll be thankful for the opportunities you’ve been given. You’ll think of your loved ones who’ve passed on and away and never could’ve dreamed of this. You’ll vow to share how very wonderful Hakone is, how wonderful “creation” is. You’ll be peaceful. Amen.