Falling out of a story
A few minutes ago I logged into YouTube Studio, typed a few words, then clicked “publish.” It was just a name swap. So why did it feel like grief? ● Lire la suite
Carnet
Carnet - l'hitoyogiri jour après jour (traduction française à venir)
Hodo 程 — Something like the right measure of things
What Omori Sokun described as 程 (hodo) at the dawn of the 17th century — and why it becomes, sooner or later, the skill you spend your life working toward. ● Lire la suite
Just a phase?
When I started posting videos about hitoyogiri instead of shakuhachi, views dropped off a cliff. What I hadn’t anticipated was the texture of the dismissal. ● Lire la suite
What Shomyo taught me about playing slowly
Shomyo is Buddhist chanting — the kind that would have been part of the daily soundscape for anyone living in Muromachi-era Japan. I’ve been trying, slowly, to build some of that scaffolding for myself. ● Lire la suite
The quiet of a thatched roof
In Sokun’s old manuscripts, we can read that the yuri in ichikotsu should begin like the quiet of a thatched roof. I have no idea what rain sounds like on a thatched roof — but a Zen monk from the 19th century pulled me directly into the scene. ● Lire la suite
Honkadori — where poetry and music meet
I stumbled on the word honkadori while reading about the poet Tonna. The meaning of this poetry rule describes very precisely the workings at the heart of hitoyogiri music. ● Lire la suite
That name in the margins
I wasn’t particularly interested in Ōmori Sōkun. His name would pop in my lessons but I hardly paid attention. He eventually managed to reach me the way most important things do — by appearing again and again until I stopped ignoring him. ● Lire la suite
If you can swallow the West River
I’ve known about the Saikō-sui koan for a while now. It’s engraved on Ōmori Sōkun’s tombstone — along with a note saying it was upon hearing it that the master found his vocation. ● Lire la suite
Thump — or, a symphony of destruction
This story begins on a damp Spring morning in Fukuoka, Japan, in 2020. I never wanted to go home ever again. Maybe in a way my wish came true. ● Lire la suite