tang dynasty times

神無月 The Godless Month

 

 Kannazuki 神無月-- There is an old belief in Japan that during the Tenth Month, all the gods from the various provinces come together in Izumo to discuss affairs of state. And with all the gods of the land away from home on business, the Tenth Month has come to be known as "Kannazuki" ("the month of no gods").

Despite the absence of gods, the Tenth Month still manages to awe, arriving as it does wrapped in a glorious cloud of fragrance. At least in Tochigi-- for almost as soon as October rolls around, the sweet perfume of the fragrant olive blossoms overwhelm. 

Sweet Osmanthus, in English, it is also known as the fragrant olive. In Japanese, it called kinmokusei 金木犀 --that is, "golden," "tree," "rhinoceros." Why rhinoceros? Well, apparently the ancients felt that the tree's gray mottled bark resembled the hide of a rhinoceros. An evergreen shrub or tree, kinmokusei is native to China and the Himalaya, and for many people the fragrance is more a symbol of October than even the chrysathemums. My friend Chieko often complained about the gloomy "northern country" skies of Paris. Autumn in Paris must be beautiful, I always thought. No, she said, it's too far north. There is no beautiful autumn foliage: no clear, blue autumn skies; no celebrated mid-autumn moon and no kinmokusei!"

They also love kinmokusei in Hong Kong and the flowers are used in jams and sweets, and dried osmanthus flowers are infused with oolong and green teas to produce what Hong Kongers call, 桂花茶-- katsura blossom tea. I sent some to Chieko in Paris for her morning tea and she cried saying, "Oh the fragrance makes me long for our home in Mejirodai."

In China, where the tree is native, there are many varieties. Most are also known by the same chinese characters 金木犀 , or 木犀　(mùxī). The flowers of the tree, however, are referred to as guì huā (桂花,  in English, "cinnamon flower" or "cassia flower"). And, it is the blossoming of this flower that was posited as one of the possible causes for why the moon is so particularly beautiful in Autumn. For the ancient Chinese believed that the "katsura" trees on the moon blossomed during the fall and it was their luminous color which caused the "harvest moon" to glow orange.

This idea, then, filtered into Heian Japan and so we find one of my all time favorite waka from the kokinshu:

久方の月の桂も秋はなほもみじすればやてりまさるらむ　　ただみね
Might it be because
The cinnabar tree on the moon
changes colors in autumn
that the autumn moon shines so brightly-- Tadamine

Interestingly, though, it wasn't until way into the Edo period that the trees even arrived in Japan, so the above poem was based purely on imaginative transmission-- like the wood carvings of elephants created at Nikko created by sculptors who had never seen such an animal.

And speaking of those blossoming lunar trees, in China, a beautiful young man 桂男-, who lives on the moon-- was thought to be responsible for having planted the trees up there. The monster-loving Japanese, however, believed that the man on the moon was an incredibly elegant and handsome demon, and women were cautioned to never look too intently at the moon, otherwise the katsura-moon man would steal their souls! So beware!

**

Painting top by Le Thanh Son.

Miki Minoru's Autumn Fantasy below:

   

bamboo dream 竹夢

 

A few days ago, I mentioned having found a poem to cross a desert with. I boldly said, I didn't even need the entire poem at all--just that one famous line:  採菊東籬下-- Plucking chrysanthemums by the eastern fence.

A popular subject for calligraphy or to be used for the seals of gentlemen on retirement, the phrase evokes the good life--not of La Dolce Vita but rather of the simple life; of a serenity achieved by a life of service and self-cultivation, where less is more and nature provides wonderful company.

It is, I think the simple truth that contentedness comes from being easily contented. And hence lies the great allure of plucking peonies (oops, I mean chrysanthemums).

 

A friend, having read my blog post then mysteriously posted another poem to my facebook wall: 

 

"Passage of Sighs"
Cao Zhi, AD 229

Carried out by strong winds
Only wanting to return home
Heading southward, the wind blows me northward
Thinking it will blow eastward, it takes me westward
Drifting, drifting, where will I end up?
Surely I will perish and yet life continues
Wandering through hills and plains
Drifting and turning, no place to stay
Who knows my hurt?
I wish to be grass in the forest
Burned in autumn fires
Destroyed by fire-- does his extinguish the pain?
Wishing for this with my roots remaining

曹植
吁嗟篇

吁嗟此轉蓬，居世何獨然。
長去本根逝，宿夜無休閑。
東西經七陌，南北越九阡。
卒遇回風起，吹我入雲間。
自謂終天路，忽然下沉淵。
驚飆接我出，故歸彼中田。
當南而更北，謂東而反西。
宕宕當何依，忽亡而複存。
飄颻周八澤，連翩歷五山。
流轉無恆處，誰知吾苦艱。
願為中林草，秋隨野火燔。
糜滅豈不痛，願與根荄連。

Not surprising given he is a mysterious man, there was no explanation of why he posted it and at first I was thrown. So, I contacted the Great Professor Wang who kindly sent me the original Chinese and the historical context. In many ways, the story echoes the chaos experienced by Lady Li—a woman who lost everything she loved and yet chose the pen name, “easily contented” 易安 (whereby freedom is based less in our choices as in the ability to shape our lives around contingency).

Professor Wang explains,

This is supposed to be one of his later poems, sort of summarizing, and sighing over, his own painful life history, being blown here and there by successive political winds.  His father, Cao Cao, chose Cao Zhi's brother Cao Pi to be his successor to the throne, and kept Cao Zhi far from the center of power; after he became emperor, Cao Pi had Cao Zhi and their other brothers sent away from the capital (blown this way and that by winds of change....)"

The winds of change and the winds of destiny, I suppose Cao Zhi felt as if he had fallen through the cracks of his own life. I am still not happy with the english in the last line (and would love help with it!) but I like very much this image of enduring and self-cultivation through the overcoming of hardships; love the image of the poet hoping only that his roots will survive the fire.

Is this not the perfect poem for a mid-life crisis par excellance?

As to the title, remember when Dante sighed?

In late May, in the New York Review of Books,  Robert Harrison, reviewed Slavitt's new translation of La Vita Nuova. talking about poetry's connection to sighs, he says,

What appears to the eyes then becomes spiritualized and, as spirit, enters the onlooker's inner being, inspiring the soul to emit a sigh. From this sigh of inspiration--this culminating intake and exhalation of breath--the poem we are reading is born.

  

As I have mentioned here many times before, Francois Jullien talking about daoist physiology brings up "breath phenomenon 氣象" and says that through one's in-haling and ex-haling, one breathes in landscape, atmosphere and social context and breathes out character, heart, correct behavior..............and poetry. Or as Rushdie says, "We inhale the world and breath out meaninf. While we can. While we can." 

This kind of elegant sighing in the wind/sighing in the mountains happens again and again in Chinese literary history. A person's dreams are dashed by fate and they lose everything (like running out of a burning house). But, finding great solace in nature, they realize (and are grateful that) they are still able to sigh. 

Suspiro ergo sum. 

For Tao Yuangming it was plucking chysanthemums and for Su Shi, it was bamboo.

 

On Qian Seng's Green Bamboo Skin Veranda, by Sū Shì

I would rather eat a meal without meat

than live in a place without bamboo.

Eating without meat makes you lose weight,

but living without bamboo makes you lose refinement.

When a person loses weight, it may be regained,

but when scholars lose refinement they are untreatable.

Others will find these words funny,

seeming lofty and at the same time, crazy.

Ruminate on this carefully if you're wise,

or you'll never ride a crane to Paradise.

 

"於潛僧綠筠軒"

蘇軾

可使食無肉，不可居無竹。

無肉令人瘦，無竹令人俗。

人瘦尚可肥，士俗不可醫。

旁人笑此言，似高還似痴。

若對此君欠大嚼，世間哪有揚州鶴。

 

The translation is Professor Wang's, and he explains that the "cranes of Yangzhou in the last line is a metaphor for ascending to heaven." It reminds me of the paintings made in the Heian period which depicted Amida traveling down to earth over spectacular landscapes on whispy sighing clouds to come and meet the dying and escort them back to paradise. The paintings, called Amida raigo-zu 阿弥陀来迎図, were sometimes held up right in front of the aristocracy when they were on their deathbed--their last sights being these beautiful paintings of landscapes with Amida traveling down to meet them on the breath of clouds.

Ah, the simple life.

A Poem to Cross a Desert With. Bamboo Dreams below (thank you so much, Ting-Jen, for introducing me to the amazing Cloud Gate Dance Theater).

the autumn moon お月さまの仁徳 (中秋節)

--from the peony archives

名月を取ってくれろと泣く子かな　一茶
Grab it, cried the child, pointing up at the full moon- Issa

Tonight, a substantial portion of the world's population will will in waves collectively turn their eyes up toward the moon. Yes, the Mid-Autumn Festival 中秋節 is upon us again.

The appreciation of the mid-autumn moon is a custom dating back at least to Han dynasty China-- probably even earlier.Indeed, for at least 2000 years now, it has been the full moon of the Eighth Month (approximately present-day September) which has been considered the most beautiful moon of the year.

In Japan, the custom of moon-viewing was adopted from China during the early Heian times and fantastic moon-viewing parties were a celebrated part of court life from these early times. The aristocrats would drink plenty of rice wine and floating lazily on their dragon boats, they would drift around man-made ponds as they gazed at the moon (perhaps composing poetry and snacking on mooncakes).

K-sensei-- who also loves this time of year-- sent me an essay he had written the other day for a local newspaper in which he writes,

秋の長夜、お月さまを仰ぐたび、日本人に生まれてよかったと思う。稲田をわたる秋風を淋しくて、どうにも身にしみるが、コオロギが競って鳴くころのお月さまなんとも味わいがある。
"On long autumn nights, gazing up in awe at the moon, I feel glad to have been born Japanese. On those nights, as the sad, lonely autumn wind blows across the rice fields and the sound of the singing crickets seems to penetrate me, I feel something deeply meaningful as I look at the moon."

He tells me that many Japanese people feel something along the lines of aesthetic and spiritual awe when they gaze at the moon. K-sensei, in the grand tradition of nihonjin-ron, then goes on to compare the Japanese experience of moon-viewing with that of the West. 

In the West, he explains, the full moon has long been associated with insomnia and insanity. The night of the full moon was a night to ward oneself against evil or lunacy. We see this aspect of the Western tradition perhaps in our word "lunatic," which, of course, comes from "luna." Indeed, the full moon has long been associated we are told with everything from vampires to excessive dog bites. (Cat Power and the Moon)

In contrast,

東洋人の心の中に月は、あくまでやさしさと純粋さを映し出すもの、人間の良心を引き出してくれるあいじょうのようなものを持つ。西瓜畑の泥棒がお月さんがじっと見ているので、恥入って西瓜を盗むことなく退散した話がある。
"The moon that lives in the hearts of those in the East, if anything, possesses a kindness and purity which has the ability of bringing out the best in humans. There is a story of a thief in a watermelon field. The moon shining down on the thief made him feel so ashamed about what he was about to commit that he left the field unable to touch even one watermelon."

The moon, then, is like a brilliant mirror reflecting back the purist and most beautiful parts of our hearts. It is another instance of the Japanese belief in the power of beauty*

Finally, K-sensei writes,

また中国では、お月さまを玉兎とも形容した。そこから、兎が住み餅をうくというコミカルな発想に結びつく。そうしたイマジュネーションは、東洋人のつきに対する思いの表れであり私たちの心をどんな平和にしてくれることか。
"The Chinese believe that a jade hare  (玉兎) is pounding mochi rice cakes (In China, medicine to help the sick) up on the moon. This comical story of a rabbit pounding rice cakes has long been associated with moon viewing, and this type of imaginative story-telling about the moon is an expression of the way in which the moon lives in the hearts of the people of the East. Images such as this, unfold within our hearts a feeling of peacefulness and happiness." 

**

 So, this year, we too-- along with millions of other people-- will celebrate the beauty of the moon. In Hong Kong and Kaoshiung-- everything was so lit up and my memories of mid-autumn festivals spent in those cities are less about the beauty of the moon as they are about delicious dinners and mooncakes, lanterns and lights, and the great festivity that transformed the streets. (Like my friend Billy, I remain a sucker for a good mooncake).

In Tochigi, it is quieter, but, I think, no less enjoyable. 

Like last year, I'll put pampas grass 薄 in a tall bamboo basket and set it out on our red deck (which, in autumn, we call our "the moon-viewing platform" or 月見台). We will probably drink beer and eat Kaori's o-tsukimi dango and just sit there quietly looking at the sky. Last year was cloudy and the moon just wouldn't show her face, so Adonis (being a feisty six year old) growing frustrated, grabbed the pampas grass out of the basket and waving the branches at the sky yelled, "Come out, come out, o-tsuki-sama!" 

We trained our eyes on the brightest part of the sky, knowing the moon to be hiding there behind the thick clouds, and sure enough, after maybe 20 minutes, out slipped the brilliant full light of the moon. The clouds were in constant motion up above, making the moon itself look like it was rolling on a great ocean of dark waves. Everytime the moon would slip out past the clouds, we would gasp, and I could hear the neighbors voices, "Look, the moon!" "It's out from behind the clouds, look!"

Many of you will perhaps smile to learn that the the Japanese alone have two moon-viewing festivals. In addition to the Chinese-originated mid-Autumn moon of the Eighth Month (September by the current calendar), the Japanese do it all over again-- with a slight twist-- in the Ninth Month (October).

It's said it all started when Emperor Daigo, who ruled during the Engi Period (around 900 a.d.), up and decided that he preferred the late Autumn moon. And, from that time onward, it came to pass that Japan celebrated the autumn moon twice: once during the spectacular full moon of the Eight Month, and then again when the moon was not quite full on the 13th Night of the Ninth Month

It's hard to say why the Emperor preferred the three-quarter moon over the full moon of the previous month, but perhaps the appeal has something to do with the Japanese aesthetic preference for the slightly imperfect over the perfect. Or maybe it is due to the ancient Taoist idea that the perfectly full moon is already in a state of decline. I've also read that the Japanese take pride that this 13th Night Moon of the Ninth Month is their original invention-- and not yet another custom imported from the continent.

We always drink cocoa for the second one so Adonis and I call the moon of the ninth month the "Cocoa Moon"

**

And for moon viewing in Mongolia, see Don Croner in Mongolia on the Harvest Moon.

**

Thanks to MWN for another beautiful photograph of the moon (above). And this beautiful shot.

  

Music recommended by Monsieur PC Cheng of Facebook (多謝！）:

 

Everything I have ever heard about Chrysanthemums (重陽の節句）

-- from the Peony Archives (re-uploaded: 09-09-09)

I have to admit, it took me a long time to really understand chrysanthemums. Compared to all the colorful flowers of spring, chrysanthemums had always left me somehow under-whelmed. That is, until I really started looking at them.

Because I am stuck again in ancient calendar time; and because according to the ancient calendar, today happens to be the Chrysanthemum Festival, I will tell you everything I know about chrysanthemums.

The Chrysanthemum Festival-- also known as the Choyo no sekku 重陽の節句 (known as "the double nines" for you all on the Continent) occurs on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month (during the Time of White Dewdrops). Choyo no sekku marks the final festival of what is known as the Five Seasonal Festivals (go sekku 五節句) of the old lunar calendar, following the Seven Grasses Festival (or jinjitsu, falling on the Seventh Day of the First Month), the Peach Blossom Festival (or Girl’s Day, falling on the Third Day of the Third Month), the Iris Festival (or Boy’s Day, falling on the Fifth Day of the Fifth Month) and the Star Festival (or Tanabata, falling on the Seventh Day of the Seventh Month.) All five of these festivals have their origins in China and were festivals marking the major changes in the seasons.

According to i ching philosophy, the doubling up of the odd, or yang numbers 1,3,5,7,9 was seen as auspicious, so that in Japan at least we have major holidays occurring on January 1st, March 3rd, May 5th, July 7th and September 9th. These "double yang" holidays were days of both celebration as well as purification and abstinence. Like so much else from China, the five festivals were adopted from the Continent by the Heian Period aristocracy; only over time being transformed according to Japanese tastes.

In ancient China, the ninth day of the Ninth Month was considered to be the seasonal marker of the “first chill of Autumn.” It was thought to be particularly potent because of the belief that the number nine, being the highest odd number (yang) from one to ten was especially lucky, and therefore this day with its “two nines” (that is, Ninth Day of the Ninth Month) was considered to be the ultimate in propitiousness.

Like the phases of the moon, the ancient Taoist philosophers taught that everything in the universe was in a constant state of vacillation. Everything therefore was either in a stage of waxing or waning so that at that very moment when something appeared to reach perfect fullness, its waning had in reality already begun. In this way, things which appear to our human eyes to be perfectly complete or full are in fact already in decline. Due to this belief, the number nine was preferred to the number ten (since 10 was already-- according to this way of looking at things-- already in a state of decline).

In much the same way that the number 10,000 indicated countless or endless numbers, the number nine signified “the largest” or “the greatest.” It was believed that there were nine heavens above reflecting the nine provinces comprising the ancient empire below, and this was further reflected in the Nine Gates and Nine Imperial Decorations of the Chinese Imperial Palace. The number nine therefore signified, "All under Heaven." It was also thought to express virtue or virtuous actions, so that when people bowed repeatedly or made offerings at formal occasions or at temples, this was known as the “nine bows” (九頓首) or the “nine offerings” (九献). This, too, eventually filtered into Japanese thought, and the “nine bows” of ancient China came to be known in the Japanese phrase sanbai-kyuhai (三拝九拝) which means to “bow repeatedly.” The “nine offerings” became the rational behind the Japanese ceremonial partaking of the “three times three exchange of nuptial cups of rice wine” (三三九度) which is still one of the main rituals performed in a traditional Shinto-style wedding ceremony in Japan today.

Nine, by the way, has always been my favorite number.

In ancient China on this day people climbed hills, had picnics outdoors and long life was prayed for by drinking chrysanthemum wine. Wang Wei, in the mid-eighth century, wrote of feeling very homesick spending the festival alone in a faraway place:

Remembering My Brothers in Shandong on the Double-Ninth Festival:
  Alone, a stranger in a distant province-
  At festivals I’m homesick through and through.
  In my mind’s eye, my brothers climb the mountain,
  Each carrying dogwood- but there’s one too few
   trans. Vikram Seth

“Dogwood” is how Seth translates the Japanese word for shuyu-- a Chinese type of citrus plant (related to the Japanese pepper tree, sanshou 山椒, cf. Kojien 562) which was placed in bags, called shuyu-no-fukoro. These bags were hung in homes and carried around on that day in the belief that the magical plant had the power to purify, scaring away evil demons-- much like the effect of garlic on vampires. Because of this practice, the day was also known as the “Dogwood Festival” (shuyu-setsuKojien 1241.) This custom spread to the Japanese aristocrats of the Heian Period, and these shuyu-no-fukuro 茱萸袋 were put up on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month replacing the “medicinal bags” (kusuri-dama 薬玉) hung in rooms (especially rooms where people slept) beginning on the Iris Festival on May Fifth.

Chrysanthemum wine has been prepared and consumed in China, at least since the Han Dynasty (206BCE- 220CE) as both a cure against sickness and aging, as well as for reasons of purification similar to that of dogwood described above.  Beautifully cultivated chrysanthemums were displayed and admired on this day, and the flower, in addition to being known as one of the “four gentlemen blossoms” (四君子）in the company of orchids, bamboo and plum blossoms, has long been associated with longevity due to the fact that the flowers bloom so magnificently just when the rest of nature seems to be giving up and dying (Kojien 1685.) In Chinese, the flowers’s name, ju(菊) is phonetically associated with the word for “nine” (jiu) and is identical with the word for “long time” (jiu) so that this symbol for long life was firmly associated with the Ninth Month from very ancient times. This belief was early on transported to Japan:

消えぬべき
露のいのちと
思わずは
久しき菊に
かかりやはせぬ

Rather than dwell
on the dewdrops
which only fade away
Why not instead align yourself
with the long-lived chrysanthemums?
-Izumi Shikibu Nikki

The flower was often used as a metaphor in poems written- to the Emperor, for example- wishing long life or a long reign. In both China and Japan, the Ninth Month was known as the “Chrysanthemum Month”. In Japan, however, this is only a secondary name, as the month is mainly known as the “Long Month,” (Nagatsuki 長月), or “Nights Growing Longer Month” (Yonagatsuki 夜長月).

The chrysanthemum, which eventually became not only associated with the Emperor of Japan, but, along with cherry blossoms, became symbolic of the Japanese people themselves, is believed to have been native, not to Japan, but to China. There is no mention of the flower in all of the Manyoshu and it is assumed to have arrived in Japan only in the late Nara to early Heian Period, valued at that time for its medicinal qualities. By the mid-Heian Period, it was cultivated and appreciated at Court and among the aristocracy. “Chrysanthemum Flower Contests” (菊の花合わせ）with poetry matches and banquets (菊花の宴）were held, and in relation to the world described in The Tale of Genji, Ivan Morris describes the festival in this way:

The emperor and his Court inspect the chrysanthemums in the palace gardens. Afterward there is a banquet. Poems are composed and the guests drink wine  in which chrysanthemums have been steeped. After a performance of dances, Palace Girls present small white trout to His Majesty, and later the guests are
served dishes of white trout.

 Lady Sei Shonagon, in her Pillow Book, describes the Heian custom of covering the court chrysanthemums on the eve of the festival with cloth and allowing the perfume of the flowers to mix in with the autumn dew, seeping in overnight so that the next morning they could be rubbed over one’s face and body to prevent aging and premature death. And, Murasaki Shikibu records in her diary that:

On the ninth of the ninth month Lady Hyobu brought me floss-silk damp with chrysanthemum dew.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Her Excellency sent it especially for you. She said you were to
use it carefully to wipe old age away!’

The Festival is also briefly described in The Tale of Genji:

Early in the Ninth Month came the chrysanthemum festival. As always, the festive  bouquets were wrapped in cotton to catch the magic dew

(Collecting dewdrops-- Why does that continue to fascinate me?)

The Heian Period was a time of huge admiration for anything Chinese- from literature to clothes to flowers. The aristocrats of the day associated Chinese things with the height of elegance, and the chrysanthemum festival was part of this cultural milieu.

 It wasn’t until the Edo Period that chrysanthemum-viewing and the Chrysanthemum Festival became truly popular with all classes of people, and by this time many new types of chrysanthemums had been introduced so that chrysanthemum-viewing became part of the yearly calendar of events of the common people. While aristocratic families continued the custom of drinking chrysanthemum wine on this day, common people prepared and enjoyed chestnut rice, giving chestnuts, which had recently been harvested, to friends and relatives. Because the Ninth Month of the old lunar calendar coincided with the time of year when the harvest work had been recently completed, over time Autumn Festivals in celebration of the harvest came to be held around the time of Chrysanthemum Festival so that the original meaning of the Chrysanthemum Festival became blurred over time.

Then by the Meiji Period, with the introduction of the new Western solar calendar, the significance of these “double nines” had all but completely been lost, except that it was still reflected in customs surrounding certain harvest festivals called “o-kunichi” (the ninth day お九日) or “o-kunchi.” These harvest festivals were traditionally held across Japan in the Ninth Month (lunar or solar) on the Ninth Day (either the 9th, 19th or 29th.) Also because of the month-long gap created by the introduction of the Solar calendar, Chrysanthemums are in fact no longer in bloom during the Ninth Month thereby further obscuring the original meaning of the festival.

早く咲け９日も近し菊の花
芭蕉

Hurry up and blossoms
-Chrysanthemum flowers-
The Ninth Day is drawing near
-Basho

In spite of the fact that chrysanthemums are no longer in bloom during the Ninth Month, The Chrysanthemum Festival is still celebrated on the Ninth Day of the Ninth Month by the Imperial family, as well as being indirectly celebrated in the Tea Ceremony where the festival is evoked at the “chrysanthemum tea gatherings” (菊の茶) held in September. At these tea gatherings, much like when the cherry blossoms bloom in spring, tea utencils which have names associated with the flower are used and appreciated; tea kettles or incense containers shaped in forms reminiscent of chrysanthemums are used, and of course the flower is used to decorate the alcove in the tea room. Outside the court or the world of tea, this is the least commonly celebrated festival of The Five Seasonal Festivals-- which is a shame since it is a day both rich in beauty and philosophy.

In the end, I too have fallen under the charms of the lofty chrysanthemum. Perhaps that's because I too would like to partake in the flower's secrets of everlasting beauty. While my favorite flower of all, the peony dies a dramatic-- and yes, unsettling-- death (all her flowers falling at once) chrysanthemums just seem to dry out in a beautifully preserved state. They are, in fact, beautiful till the end. And, its true, when the last chrysanthemum has died, no more flowers will bloom till the start of spring the following year. They are the last to bloom. Stubbornly holding off winter with their sheer act of will. You really cannot help but admire them, can you?

Update (9月10日〕

Andrew Leonard of Salon magazine links to this post in his article The Bicycle Theory & the Tao. Andrew, thank you very much for your kind words!

Update (９月１７日）

Athena sends me this link to the New York Botanical Gardens "Kiku" event-- for those in New York.