In middle of December at around 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.
Here in the Netherlands, all of it 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 the 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,
then took a long, deep, steady breath in.
Suddenly, the scent of burning wood filled the air.
Of all the fragrances in the world,
the smell of a wood fire is my favorite.
It instantly unravels the tension in my brain,
as if a switch for a sense of relief—one etched into my very DNA—
has been turned on.
I felt a profound sense of gratitude.
Then, I quietly began to jog alone.
Usually, when one thinks of "running,"
it involves short, rapid breaths through the mouth.
However, my current personal obsession was to run while consciously
practicing deep, rhythmic nasal breathing.
I had realized that this method suits me far better.
When inhaling,
I focus on letting the air reach the deepest corners of my lungs.
It is like the way a bedsheet ripples when you lift it with both hands and let it settle;
the wave travels from your hands to the very edge before it softly lands.
I try to firmly grasp the oxygen and energy in the air with my alveoli,
absorbing it into my mind and body.
When exhaling,
I breathe out at a pace that is neither too slow nor too fast.
I release the old, unnecessary things within my heart and body,
as if purifying myself.
I immerse myself gently in this process,
taking care not to disrupt the grand rhythm of this breath.
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.
What if my parents had never met?
What if I had been in an accident somewhere?
The fact that I have a body that can run like this,
and a room where I can take shelter from the wind and rain...
Not a single thing can be taken for granted.
Yet, in daily life,
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 had only the sensation of watching 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 surroundings were bright with streetlights and houses.
I felt myself instantly snapping back to reality.
I gradually stopped running,
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.
I placed my hand over my heart.
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
It felt just like the vibrations of my running.
Sweat was overflowing from my heated body.
Ah... I see...
Negative emotions, and bright emotions.
Both are things that overflow as long as we live as human beings.
If you run, you get hot, and sweat overflows.
That is the law of nature.
Therefore, we should neither suppress
nor ignore those overflowing feelings.
Shadow and light—to taste, embrace, and express
every single part that overflows through this mind and body,
is that not why I came to this cosmic realm, to this Earth,
to experience being human as "me"?
It is okay to lament.
It is okay to rejoice.
Every bit of it becomes a memory that belongs only to me.
It becomes a miraculous trajectory that only I have walked.
Light is not waiting somewhere else.
I live, aiming for somewhere that I, as a human, desire.
The "journey" itself—the act of walking—is the light itself.
Surely.
Surely, that is so.
Therefore, this is enough.
Just as I am is enough.
Suddenly, the cold night wind whistled past me and was gone.
My heart is gradually regaining its calm.
