5:30 PM.

The Dutch winter sky is already pitch black.

It’s so cloudy that even the stars and the moon are nowhere to be seen.

Lately, jogging at this hour has become

a quiet, private pleasure of mine.

 

Taking the ganja I grew myself,

I draw slowly from a bong

to keep it gentle on my throat.

Bubble, bubble, bubble...

I softly invite the white smoke into my lungs.

Holding it for a moment,

I exhale slowly, a long and thin breath.

Immediately, my consciousness shifts away

from that of "sobriety."

 

A strange sensation, as if being pulled upward,

or sinking deep down below.

Every time I feel this distinct shift in awareness,

I am embraced by a sense of remembering—

ah, yes, this world existed too.

 

If I were to do this in Japan,

it would be completely unacceptable.

But this is the foreign land of the Netherlands.

Everything here is permitted.

The scent always drifts through the streets,

and people walk about, high and free.

That was the common sense of this side of world.

 

Cloaked in a light, floating sensation,

I quietly descend the stairs,

taking care not to disturb the other residents,

and step out into the world of darkness.

The moment I step out,

the fresh scent of trees enters deep into my lungs.

No, I consciously breathe it in with all my might.

 

Ah, what incredibly, incredibly refreshing air.

I spread my arms wide and stretch.

 

Moving as I am by its splendor,

I also feel a slight regret—

that while such a vast,

fresh world was expanding out here,

I had spent all day confined within the walls of my room.

 

Tapping on my phone,

I start playing a playlist called "Blossom" on Apple Music.

The gentle sounds playing at random

flow through my ears and into my mind and body.

 

At this time of year, the houses are adorned

with sparkling illuminations.

In some homes, it is truly magnificent.

Together with the music in my ears,

the contrast with this darkness is beautiful.

Of course, while it is a Christian religious tradition,

I thought it must also serve practical purposes—

perhaps for security, or to prevent the winter blues.

 

Even I,

find that these beautiful lights

soothe my heart in some way.

 

In this country, the Netherlands,

I am a foreigner, an immigrant.

The culture, the language, the people—

everything is different.

And now, it is the Dutch winter.

A long, dark, and cold period.

Since coming to this country,

I have been able to gain many new experiences.

They were all things I could never have imagined

when I was in Japan.

I feel immense wonder and gratitude.

 

But at the same time,

I’ve felt as though I’ve been silently pushing forward

through a space as long, dark, and cold as this winter.

I believed there was light at the end of the path.

But then,

feeling the walls of discrimination and the unique European culture,

there came a point where I no longer knew

if I was moving forward or just treading water.

I exhaled forcefully, "phew,"

then took a long, deep, deliberate breath in.

 

This time, I caught the scent of burning wood.

Of all the scents in the world,

the aroma of a wood fire is my favorite.

It feels as if my brain relaxes instantly—

accompanied by a sensation of a "relief switch" being flipped,

something etched deep within my DNA.

Sending a silent thanks to someone, somewhere,

burning that wood, I began to jog, slowly and quietly.

 

When it comes to "running,"

most people tend to take short, quick breaths through the mouth.

But lately, I’ve been into the practice of running while

consciously maintaining a deep, steady rhythmic breath.

 

As I inhale through my nose,

I focus on letting the air reach the very depths of my lungs.

It’s like when you flick a bedsheet up with both hands to let it settle;

I imagine that wave traveling from my hands to the very edge until it lands with a soft "thud."

I exhale through my mouth,

at a speed that is neither too fast nor too slow.

I concentrated solely on this breathing routine.

 

After about ten minutes of running,

a vast park—large enough to be called a forest—opens up.

Stepping inside, I am enveloped by the thick scent of trees.

Narrow asphalt paths weave through countless towering trees,

but after days of rain, a carpet of mud, fallen leaves,

and a bit of horse manure had formed on the ground.

 

I switched on my phone’s light

and ran on, alone.

There was no longer any sign of people or festive lights.

Careful not to trip, I ran,

keeping my focus entirely on my breath.

Occasionally, I would step into a puddle,

sending cold flecks of mud splashing up to my shins.

 

From a certain point,

there is a place where it becomes significantly darker.

The trees grow so dense

that almost no light can penetrate.

It felt as if I had stepped into another world.

Eventually, everything was swallowed by darkness,

leaving the faint glow of my phone as the only light.

Soon, even this small flame felt meaningless.

 

I turned off the light

and took off my earphones.

 

In the dark forest, stripped of light and music,

only the high-pitched chatter of birds,

the sound of my own breath, and my footsteps echoed through the air.

 

I continued as before, focusing on my breath, running forward.

But in this level of darkness,

I lost track of my speed

and even my sense of where I was.

 

Still, I keep running.

I focus on my breath.

 

At some point, the chatter of the birds

that had been echoing so loudly vanished.

 

My body, too, seemed to disappear,

becoming a part of the darkness.

 

A potent mix of fear and euphoria crept up

stealthily from behind, hand in hand.

 

They soon merged with me.

But to ensure my heart was not overtaken,

I do not look back.

 

Still, I run.

I focus on my breath.

 

By now,

I no longer knew if I was moving forward

or merely treading water.

 

Eventually,

the rhythmic "vibration" of my feet striking the ground

was all that remained of my existence.

 

Without a word, it was like the beating of my heart—

that which constantly keeps me alive

behind the scenes.

 

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

 

That’s right.

I am not the one "living."

I am merely *being lived*.

 

I am being lived "here and now," supported by

a cosmic web of countless astronomical miracles and connections.

Yet, I so easily forget this.

 

Believing that light exists somewhere out there,

I strive toward it, only to lament

when that light remains out of reach.

I suffer, I grieve, I rage, I cry.

I wonder why.

 

But then, when things go slightly well,

I am happy, I rejoice, I feel joy, I laugh.

I wonder why.

 

Though I am focusing on my breath,

a conversation carries on inside me of its own accord.

I watched it all unfold from a distance,

as if it were someone else’s story.

Before long, a faint light appeared in the distance ahead.

It was the path leading out of the dark forest.

 

The moment I emerged from the trees,

the world was bright again with streetlights and houses.

I felt myself instantly snapping back to reality.

 

I gradually slowed my run,

transitioning into a walk.

But my breath, as before,

maintained its steady rhythm.

My feet were quite messy with mud.

 

Each exhaled breath appeared white for a fleeting second,

only to be swept away by the night wind.

Sweat poured from my heated body.

 

I placed my hand over my heart.

 

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

 

It felt just like the vibrations of my running.

 

 

Ah... I see...

 

 

Negative emotions,

and bright emotions.

Both are things that naturally overflow from being human.

 

It’s not that negative emotions are bad.

 

And it’s not that we should only

have the bright ones.

 

We should neither suppress

nor ignore

these overflowing feelings.

 

Shadow and light—

I came to this cosmic realm, to this Earth,

to experience being human: to taste, embrace,

and express every single part of it.

 

Yes.

This is surely enough.

Just as I am is enough.

 

It is okay to lament.

It is okay to rejoice.

 

Light is not waiting somewhere else.

The "journey"—

the very act of moving toward something—

is the light itself.

 

My heart is gradually regaining its calm.

 

For a brief moment, the cold night wind

whistled past me and was gone.