Chapter 8 Simplicity and Silence

Simplicity and Silence (wabi sabi)

Autumn sun on stone poems –

simple letters carved on the back,

graceful script on the face.

Wabi can be simply translated as frugal, simple or plain in appearance. Sabi means quietness, stillness, silence. But when we say wabi sabi there is the implication of a deeper meaning. Some masters of tea ceremony say wabi sabi can be expressed as being quiet and serene but it is much more than just that. It is the whole attitude toward life which derives from that state of mind.

Practicing shodō both develops and requires wabi sabi. Every step fosters deep silence. First you make the ink. You put a little water in the well of the mortar. It has to be just the right amount. If you put too much, the ink will be too thin and will run, and if you do not put enough, it will be too thick and will not flow properly on the paper. Next you take the ink stick and pull a little water up onto the grinding area and begin rubbing in a circular motion. It takes a long time to make ink of the right consistency. You cannot rush this step. If you are patient, the sound and sensation of the ink stick rubbing against smooth stone and water is very soothing. Once you have made your ink for that session, you take a piece of practice paper and fold it like a fan to make columns. You place the poem or sutra you wish to copy nearby. Then you dip your brush into the ink. If you get too much ink, your strokes will be too wide or will soak into the paper too much. With too little ink, you will not make a smooth, continuous stroke. You have to judge the size of your strokes so that the poem will fit the paper without looking cramped or too spaced out. You practice writing the poem until you feel ready to make a copy on nice paper. It is important to practice enough but it is also important to create a finished piece, even if it has “mistakes.” The finished piece is a record of where you are at that moment, including the perfect and the imperfect.

Shodō is like Zen. One time I went to China as an international guest, representing Japan at a calligraphy competition. The Chinese lady next to me was writing big characters with a big brush on a big piece of paper. I was very nervous because I write small pieces. When I sat down, I blanked out and when I came to, my piece was written and it was perfect. I did not know what I was doing until I finished. There is a Buddhist saying, “Out of nothing comes creation, out of creation comes nothing.”

In the past, all these arts were connected: ikebana, shodō and sadō. People would put a scroll on the wall, written in calligraphy by a priest. In front they would have a flower arrangement, and they would drink tea.

The traditional Japanese room for sadō was originally a very large room, for example, in a war lord’s castle. Sadō was practiced only by the wealthy. They would burn incense on the tokanoma, a special raised platform with a seasonal scroll and ikebana. Then four hundred years ago, Sen no Rikyu (1522-1591) said you did not need luxurious things. Rikyu made everything simple in sadō. He had a strong reverence for each simple object. In that way, he taught people to know the real value of things. He trained at Daitoku-ji, a Zen Buddhist temple, and was given the name Rikyu, which comes from a Buddhist saying, “One does not need fame or profit.” Sen no Rikyu was very open minded because he grew up in a commercial area, Sakai, famous for trading many different kinds of foreign goods. He made tea ceremony frugal, characterized by wabi cha, simple tea. He distinguished the tea ceremony as sadō, flower arranging became kadō, calligraphy, shodō, and burning incense, kodō. Rikyu wrote a famous poem: “Though many people drink tea, if you do not know the Way of Tea, tea will drink you up.”

Even if you are in a very small room, you can feel at one with the universe. When you enter a small room with a low door, you have to bow down. You enter with humility through a small opening into a small space. Depending on the emotional attitude, that small space will be become a big universe. You do not need all the luxurious equipment. It can be very simple and you can create a vast universe in a tiny room. That is the heart of sadō. When you drink the tea you become calm and you experience harmony.

The four principles of sadō are: wa (harmony), kei (respect), sei (purity), and jaku (tranquility or enlightenment). When you are in that calm environment, you can reach enlightenment. Some people who practice tea today just want to show off their expensive bowls and rich kimono. They are missing the point. The true spirit along with the prescribed form of etiquette of sadō can help people in everyday life. Offering hospitality and giving respect to others, behaving in a natural and polite manner, being frugal, simple, clean, careful and orderly, attending to details and discovering beauty in commonplace things, all of these fundamentals are cultivated through the practice of sadō.

Wabi sabi is also the basis of poetry. For many years I have been writing poetry, both haiku and waka. Haiku season ( from haiku no ku, literally “not serious verse”) is a form of poetry with 17 syllables in three unrhymed lines of five, seven and five syllables, often describing nature or a season. Waka (from wa “circle” + ka “song”), now called tanka, (from tan “short” + ka “song”) is a form of poetry with 31 syllables in five lines, the first and third lines having five syllables each and the other lines having seven syllables each.

Poetry is like Zen. It is from the heart. The meaning is really deep. In the old days people used to write more about nature. Four of the main themes were flowers, birds, the wind and the moon. These days people write about anything. Perhaps shinjinrui, the new breed of people, need more stimulation. I think they do not appreciate the subtleties of nature the way kyujinrui, the old breed of people, used to. The old style of using nature for poetic inspiration does not seem to suit young people. The emperor still reads poetry once a year to the public. He retains that old dignified style, drawing from nature. That is one of the few instances you will find traditional poetry in modern times. Now people speak more directly. There used to be a more beautiful way of saying things. Traditional haiku looked like nothing but had such a deep meaning. Now you read poetry and you quickly understand. It seems that people today do not know how to think deeply, so they have to write in a more obvious way. I feel the modern way is not interesting.

Like the poet Bashō, I wrote a number of poems on my walk from Kyōto to Tōkyō, included in my Diary of the White Bush Clover. In telling my memoirs, we translated these poems into English, with my added commentary. It was very hard to do this because it is difficult to convey the meaning of a poem in another language. One expression in Japanese, such as momijiba no aki, might take eight words to explain in English: “beautiful changing color of maple leaves in autumn.” Many words are used only in poetry, especially words that refer to the season, such as aki, which literally means autumn, but has the connotation of a sentimental season. Japanese people understand the allusions underlying these words but it is not so apparent to someone else. Also, some of the words I used are so old they are not even found in modern Japanese dictionaries. It often took us half a day to translate just one three-line poem. Every word required a lot of thought. For instance, referring to one ripe persimmon still hanging on the tree, we finally settled on translating akashi as “deep orange.”

Chapter 7 Teachers

Teachers (sensei)

Both you and me,

our lifetimes are as momentary as the dew.

Recognize that life is precious.

Do not waste it.

We talked this way until sunrise.

My grandmother was my first sensei. O-bā-san, as I called her, taught me from my earliest days the proper way for a young lady to behave. When I was a toddler, if I sat with my legs sticking straight out, Grandmother would remind me to sit with my legs folded under. I could not sit this way for long so she corrected me gently but frequently. She loved sewing and made many kimono for me. She also made little rice-filled balls stitched together from petal shapes cut from her own baby clothes. I always remember her sewing. She used to like taking me along with her when she went to Senso-ji, the Kannon temple in Asakusa, or visiting her friends. She did everything tadashiku, very properly. For example, she always put on new underwear when she went out “in case something happened,” that is, in case she was hospitalized. She was a very caring person. She loved looking after others and helped many people, such as the students at Teikoku University in Tōkyō. Many of them rose to high positions in society. Later they turned around and invited her for meals and asked for her advice.

O-bā-san advised me to study traditional aspects of culture, not to become a teacher but as pastimes. It was the thing to do in those days. In addition to shamisen, ikebana and shodō, I also studied buyo, traditional dance. I did not study long because the war started and we were not allowed to do those things, to play around, since there was a war on, no money, no food, people dying.

Oishi Takako was my first calligraphy teacher. She taught me from the time I entered secondary school until I married, two years after graduation. After that came the war and then I was looking after my children. Ten years passed. Then I began studying with the same teacher for another ten years. Finally, I received my shodō license. Now I have been teaching shodō myself for over fifty years.

Oishi-san’s teacher, Onoue Saishu, was good friends with my grandfather’s brothers. Because of this connection, I came to meet my teacher. Oishi-san studied traditional-style hiragana, Heiangana, which is about 1,300 years old, with her sensei. I studied Heiangana with Oishi-san and now I am teaching this traditional style to my students. It is also called sōsho, “grass hand,” a cursive style of calligraphy which abbreviates and links the characters to create a flowing, graceful effect.

Oishi-san was very strict. She taught me how to properly care for the calligraphy tools: fude, brush, sumi, ink, and washi, paper. She had an extremely busy teaching schedule. As soon as she finished one class, she had to move on to another. She taught in a cultural school as well as giving private lessons. Her private lessons were rather expensive but very good. She had a waiting room outside the classroom where people would line up for their lessons. It must have been hard for her teaching so many people individually. She also taught private group lessons. I attended individual lessons because I wanted to become good at calligraphy. We had a long connection, over seventy years. She died about three years ago, in 2002.

Hirayama-sensei, my tea ceremony teacher, lived in Ōsaka when I was living in Nara. She taught me the essential techniques of sadō. I was in my forties when I began studying the way of tea with this sensei, who was in her seventies, so there was a difference of thirty years between us. Now I myself am an old lady. Her legs were bad, like mine now, and sometimes she could not kneel in seiza position. She often took me to tea ceremonies in Kyōto.

Matsumoto Jitsudo was the chōrō, head priest, at both Saidai-ji and Hozan-ji in Nara. He had a very gentle face and spoke very calmly and quietly. He was dedicated to renovating dilapidated temples in the Nara area and was well known for this work. His motto was, “Be strict on yourself but be kind to others.” Another saying was, “Humans cannot live alone, they need other people, so we must give thanks to everyone around us.” Those were some of the guiding principles he taught me. I went on in my life to try to live up to his teachings.

I first met Matsumoto-san after I moved from Tōkyō to Nara. One day I went to pray at Hozan-ji. At that time there was a tea ceremony room in the temple where you could go to drink some tea after praying. A man was setting up the room for a tea ceremony. Ito-san was not a sensei but he knew about the equipment. I said I was coming to Hozan-ji for the first time to pray, having recently moved to Nara from Tōkyō. Ito-san offered to introduce me to Matsumoto-san. It was not usually easy to meet the chōrō. I do not know why Ito-san offered to do this. Perhaps it was because I had come all the way from Tōkyō or perhaps he thought I was a true believer. It must have been my destiny on the Buddhist path. My first impression of Matsumoto-san was that he was really kind-hearted. Sometimes he would perform the tea ceremony after prayers. We would talk and I learned the real heart of sadō from him.

          Matsumoto-san was also very good at shodō. He wrote a single kanji (from kan “Chinese” + ji “letter, character”) for me, wa (peace), which is still one of my greatest treasures. I met with this chōrō when I would go to pray at these two temples. I felt he gradually came to understand my Buddhist beliefs and we became friends. He came three times to see my shodō exhibitions when they were held in Tōkyō. Each year, in order to help my Cultural Academy, he donated three kakijiku, shodō scrolls, to be sold. I was very grateful because not only I but also my students could benefit from his art and wisdom. Everything he talked about was so wonderful.

When he was around ninety, he fell sick and retired as chōrō of Saidai-ji and Hozan-ji. He moved to a smaller temple where he was cared for by a family living at the temple. I went to visit him. When I saw him I felt as if he had given up being an elite priest and just seemed like a nice old man. I thought that was a good thing, because when you are chōrō you have to shoulder a lot of responsibilities and you are very busy but now he had none of those concerns. There was a little child near him in the room calling out, “O-jī-chan, O-jī-chan!” He seemed so happy now, a grandfather enjoying the comforts of a simple life. Three months later he died.

When I was about thirty-five, I met Komatsu Chiko, who was niso, head nun,

 of Jakko-in in Kyōto. When we met the first time, I felt a strong connection. I felt that something inside me, my inner feeling, could be understood by her. I felt that this woman could sense my belief in the one truth just in one meeting. It was miraculous.

Chiko-san was very busy. She wrote Waga Omou: Budda to Heiwa e no Michi, a big book, which was translated into English as The Way to Peace: The Life and Teachings of the Buddha. It contains the prayer to Kannon-sama, which I write out every day in shodō, as a spiritual practice. She also went to Sri Lanka and founded a school there. Even though she was so busy, she would invite me to come visit her at Jakko-in in Kyōto. We would spend time talking and take lunch together. Even during the mealtime some interesting Buddhist teaching would appear. For instance, one time a butterfly landed while we were eating and Chiko-san said, “The butterfly is also a deity, because who made the butterfly? So let us pray to the butterfly.”

Jakko-in is a very peaceful place. The garden is very beautiful. I went every year to be with my religious teacher. Tragically, the temple burned to the ground a few years ago, apparently an act of arson. No one knows why. Chiko-san was deeply shocked by this incident. After that she did not invite me to come and soon after she died, in 2002.

I learned so much from these visits. One time Chiko-san opened the shojō and saw the maple leaves changing color in autumn. She said, “What beautiful momiji they are. But when those leaves first appear, they are all green, all the same color. Depending on how they get hit by the rays of the sun or the wind and rain, they get changed and that makes them beautiful. When they fall from the tree, they are all different. Humans are the same. Now when I go to hospital and see the babies in the newborn ward, I think, they are all like young momiji.”

You have to feel this way inside. My religious teacher always felt like that but it was not so easy for me. Chiko-san was so much greater because she could feel that way all the time. I have to try harder to feel the connection with the universe. It seemed so easy for her. These conversations with her were like that, so good.

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Map

Diary of the White Bush Clover


Day      Map number     Location (overnight*)

1                      1          Kyōto

                        2          Yamashina

     3          Hama Ōtsu*

2                      4          Zeze

     5          Kusatsu

     6          Moriyama*

3                      7          Mikamiyama

                        8          Omihachiman*

4                      9          Hikone*

5                      10        Samegai

    11        Kashiwabara

    12        Sekigahara*

6                      13        Ōgaki*

7                      14        Ichinomiya*

8                      15        Nagoya*

9                      16        Okazaki*

10                    17        Gamagori*

11                    18        Toyohashi*

12                    19        Mikkabi

    20        Kanzan-ji*

13                    21        Hamamatsu*

14                    22        Iwata*

15                    23        Osugacho*

16                    24        Sagara*

17                    25        Shizuoka*

18                    26        Shimizu*

10                    27        Fujishi*

20                    28        Numazu*

21                    29        Mishima

                        30        Ashino-ko, Hakone*

22                    31        Odawara*

23                    32        Kōzu

     33        Ōiso

                        34        Hiratsuka*

24                    35        Atsugi

                        36        Haramachi*

25                    37        Shibuya, Tōkyō*

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 25

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 25 (30 October) Haramachida to Tōkyō

Today was finally the last day. I woke up earlier in the morning because I had to return to the road at Haramachida, far from where I had stayed last night. I left at 7 o’clock and went back to my starting point, which took one hour. There were rice fields on either side of the river. It was the harvest season but after the typhoon the stalks of ripe grain had fallen down into the waterlogged fields and turned black. I remembered the beautiful flat rice fields at Omiheia, twenty days ago. In that area the people worked only as farmers so the power of agriculture was strong there. But in this place the farmers sometimes worked at another job and I did not feel the same power of agriculture. I felt sorry for these rice fields. There was a lack of agricultural manpower here because they could only cut the rice on Sunday. We can get good results only when we focus on one thing.

At the border of the prefecture I found a sign board, City of Tōkyō. At last I had entered Tōkyō. I was within two hours of my final destination. I stood and stared at the sign board. My twenty-five days of walking from Kyōto through Shiga, Gifu, Aichi, Shizuoka and Kanagawa prefectures would soon be finished and all my troubles had changed to good memories.

I walked through the landscape of rice fields. After that the number of houses increased and I could see familiar names, a sign that I was getting closer to Tōkyō. I knew the places around here and I felt I had almost reached my goal. I sat down on the bank of the Tama-gawa and took the persimmons and tangerines from my rucksack, preparing to eat them. Some construction workers sat down to eat lunch close near me and I gave them the fruit instead of eating it myself. They were very happy.

I crossed the bridge over the river and walked beside the railway line toward to Shibuya. When I was an elementary school student I used to walk to the Tama-gawa to play. It made me feel very nostalgic. Who would ever guess that I would walk the same road on a pilgrimage? No one knows the future. Compared to the old days the town looked very busy, full of many people and shops. I began walking faster and forgot my travel fatigue.

At Josen-ji, the last temple on my pilgrimage, I greeted the priest, asked him to write in my notebook and gave thanks for safely completing my journey. My travels were over at last but I did not feel any deep emotion at all. I do not know why. Every day my purpose had been to walk to Tōkyō. Finally when I arrived in Tōkyō my purpose was gone. At the start no one had been there to see me off and in Tōkyō no one was there when I arrived. I did not speak to any of my family or friends the day I returned. Instead I sat in the main temple with a feeling of deep serenity. My journey seemed long but at the same time short and now it was over. My heart was calm and quiet. I sat there remembering my journey, which was both a distant memory and fresh in my awareness.

I had walked from west to east for twenty-five days. The right side of my face was tanned and the color of my left and right hands was different. This contrast was a good memory for me. I went to the post office and sent over thirty telegrams to let my family and friends know of my safe arrival. A newspaper reporter from the Asahi Shimbun showed up but I said, “No, no, no, I do not want to be in the newspaper.”

Then I returned to my home in Nara, a three hour trip by shinkansen. At dinner that night they served a big sea bream fish in celebration of my safe return. I was filled with great satisfaction. I would never be able to do this kind of pilgrimage again and I felt deep appreciation for the many people who supported me and the many people I met during my journey.

One week after I got back to Nara, I went to Jakko-in. Jakko-in is the number one sub-temple of Hie-zan, the main temple where all the Tendaishu monks do their training. My teacher, Chiko-san, the head nun, made sekihan, sweet sticky rice with red beans used for special celebrations, and many other special dishes in honor of my return. She gave me a kesa, a special red-gold silk stole. Kesa can be bought by believers but they are usually given only to monks. The color is very special. Believers usually wear white kesa but I received one signifying the highest rank.

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 24

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 24 (29 October) Hiraska to Haramachida

At the Yoshida family house they served breakfast at 6 o’clock. I thanked them for their warm hospitality and went back to Jogyo-ji. At the main temple the head priest, Kawade Nisho, in a scarlet reifuku indicating high rank, was chanting a sutra. In front of him was my notebook, which he prayed over. I sat behind him and prayed quietly for the victims of war. Tomorrow I would be in Tōkyō. This would be the last prayer session at a temple on my pilgrimage. Through my prayers I hoped the war dead would rest in peace. After the prayers the priest returned the notebook to me. I told him the story about the events yesterday at the Kōzu coast. The priest said, “That is your Buddha wisdom. It is the result of your pilgrimage.” And he wrote a message in my notebook: “Your hope has been achieved.”

The Yoshida couple also came to the temple and said sayōnara to me. With many thanks to them, I started toward the east. Later I crossed the bridge over the Banyu. When I looked back I could see beautiful Fuji-san under the autumn sky and I could also see Hakone-yama. This experience of crossing the Hakone mountains during a typhoon was the greatest treasure of my life. It had been very difficult but now it was a good memory. I realized how all my experiences become just a memory. Only two days had passed but it already seemed like a long time ago.

The Fuji-san I could see now was on the opposite side of where I had stayed at the Oda family’s house in Fujishi. I had walked all the way around to the far side of the sacred mountain. Once more I started walking. I walked and walked but I could not find any shops. While I was taking a short rest, the long white body of the shinkansen streaked by in a flash. I calculated the time and distance I usually walked in a day. The shinkansen could cover the same distance in just ten minutes. People must think my walk is very silly or pointless, I thought. I am a rare person to make such a journey on foot. But for me this was the first and last chance in my life. Only Buddha could understand my pilgrimage.

After a while I found a shop at Ayase where I could buy bread and milk. The woman who owned the shop looked at me with curiosity. I said I would be in Tōkyō tomorrow and told her the story of my travels. She was another war widow. She was so impressed with my story she refused payment for the food. She also gave me a few tangerines and persimmons. I was very happy that she understood my pilgrimage.

I looked for a ryokan. In the first one, I found a few noisy American soldiers with Japanese girls so I left quickly. This place was really close to Atsugi Army Base, with many soldiers wandering around. I heard that every inn was like this so I decided to go to Enoshima. It might be far from here but I had to go there.

Today was Sunday and most ryokan were closed but I went to a big ryokan and found a room. Even though the town was very crowded with travelers I had a big room all to myself and I could relax. 

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 23

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 23 (28 October) Odawara to Hiratsuka

In the morning the youngest daughter came back from a school trip and we all heard her story. Her manner was polite and she was also pretty. After breakfast I left the house. Today I planned to go to Hiratsuka. The distance was not far. I walked along Route 1 a little while and then I remembered that I had forgotten my umbrella. I phoned them. The daughter brought it to me by bicycle. I thought I might still need an umbrella sometime.

Suddenly an ambulance went past me and stopped just ahead. I hurried there and looked. An old woman about eighty years old had fallen down unconscious. She might have been walking alone through the town and had no relations nearby. Soon people gathered but no one knew her. She was carried by stretcher into the ambulance. We never know what will happen to us. It reminded me of the expression, shogyo mujo, all is vanity. I prayed for her to recover.

Around Kōzu the sea is nearby. I could see big white waves on my right, which called me to the seashore, so I took the road to the coast. The waves were still very high because of the typhoon yesterday. They came toward me, surging up and down and crashing into each other. I gazed at the scenery for a while because I love the waves.

When I looked at the horizon I saw a ship. It quickly went below the horizon but it was still floating. I suddenly realized that I could not see the ship because the earth is round. Anyone standing on the shore could see the horizon but could not see beyond the horizon. No one could see that far even if that person was rich or famous. In that way everyone is equal. I suddenly understood the fundamental condition of human life. This insight was satori, a spiritual awakening for me. Up to the horizon is in this world but beyond the horizon is Buddha’s realm. Our spiritual practice has a purpose but when we reach that goal we find another one beyond that. We never reach the final destination.

From Ninomiya I walked to Ōiso. Long ago, Yoshida, the prime minister of Japan, lived in this town and built the road to Tōkyō. I arrived at Jyogyo-ji in Hiratsuka at 4 o’clock. It was already getting dark. This was the last temple I would stay in on this journey. I greeted the priest and left the notebook in front of the temple’s statue of Buddha. I stayed in the Yoshida family’s house that night. They had been in Nara before so I thought of them with affection. The priest’s wife made dinner for me and I gratefully ate the meal. 

Chapter 6 Pilgrimage Day 22

Diary of the White Bush Clover

Day 22 (27 October) Ashino-ko to Odawara

Early in the morning I woke up to the sound of the storm beating against the glass window. In the news they said the taifū would pass the Izu peninsula today. Looking out at Ashino-ko, sightseeing boats were rolling up and down and pitching back and forth in the gale. I wondered whether I should go into the arashi or not but I felt Buddha was testing me so I decided to go. After breakfast I put on a raincoat. The people in the ryokan said not to go but if I took a rest for a day my pilgrimage would be useless so I left the ryokan.

The rain pushed me from the side so hard I could hardly walk. I used my umbrella like a shield. When the road changed directions the wind came from behind, pushing me hard. The kasa went inside out so I could not use it anymore. My shoes in the water made the sound, jabo jabo jabo. The rain was like a waterfall on my raincoat. My body was bishonure ni naru, wet to the skin, and my stomach hurt. I walked fast, thinking of warm food on my arrival in the town. The road became like a river. The flow of water was so strong it had washed away all the sand that filled the little holes in the road so the going was rough. The soles of my shoes were getting thin and would soon be full of holes but I had vowed to use the same shoes until I reached Tōkyō.

I saw a bus stop and thought about taking a bus because I was so tired and wet. But I knew I must keep walking and anyway I realized the bus would not come because of the typhoon. Instead of waiting I walked down further. The rain grew a little weaker. The golden leaves made beautiful patterns on the road. When the weather cleared the cars would come again and the beautiful patterns would disappear at once. I enjoyed the scenery for a while, all alone.

The storm was ending and the road became flat. Now Hakone Yumoto was near. The sun was shining through the clouds with soft beams. It was so strange. I could not believe the typhoon had vanished so suddenly. I was being strengthened through the trials of this pilgrimage. Moved, I wiped away tears of gratitude.

I found an udon shop so I dashed inside. No other customers were there.

The owner was surprised and said, “What happened to you?”

I told him about my journey since that morning.

He was astonished and said, “Change your clothes quickly. Otherwise you’ll get a cold.”

Then he took me to another room where I could change into my dry clothes. Once more I had the good fortune to meet kind people. The noodles were warm. I recovered my energy, thanked him and walked from Yumoto toward Odawara.

This road was the same one I passed a month ago by car on another trip and I compared the power of the human with the power of the machine. At 3 o’clock I arrived at the Kojima house in Odawara, which was also a hair salon. The sun was still high in the sky. The daughter washed and set my hair. In the evening I had a wonderful dinner with the family and went to bed early. I recalled the day’s suffering and the joy of passing through it. I also learned a lot about human kindness. It became a good memory.