Hawaii Paradise, Japan Perplexity

Dateline: Honoka’a, Hawai’i; November 18, 2012--Yesterday I delivered my last lectures of this current trip. Five and a half hours to a full and very interested audience. Where I am staying, in the highlands of the Big Island, is right next to paradise. My housing is an old shipping container retrofitted as an apartment and I love it. Hawaii has lots of rats, compliments of the early and then later explorers and profiteers. Later the mongoose was purposely introduced as a way to control the rodent population. Trouble is, rats are nocturnal and mongoose are diurnal and never the twain shall meet. So the indigenous birds of Hawaii were decimated day and night. Back before Captain Cook and crew discovered the Sandwich Isles, Hawai'i had only one native land mammal, the Hawaiian Hoary Bat.

Now, living in a shipping container might sound just a bit spartan, but let me introduce a few balancing factors. Behind the container are orange trees heavily laden with fruit sometimes rivaling the size of grapefruit and so juicy they have to be eaten with a paper towel standing by. To the left of the humble dwelling is a small grove of avocado trees with fruit the size of Florida avos but with the a texture and taste surpassing that of the Hass variety. Between them and the oranges are the bananas. To the front, on the other side of the fellowship hall where I prepare my meals, are more avocado trees and macadamia trees. If you happen to arrive before the interloping rats find the nuts, you can gather a bounty of the horny-shelled treasures. It is amazing to see all the shells littering the ground with a small hole gnawed through the seemingly unyielding protective barrier and every speck of the tender meat gone. On the hillside up toward the church is a pomelo tree. With the 30’ long fruit picker I have been provided during my stay here, fresh fruit is not a problem. And before coming here I was supplied bountifully with large purple avocados that were the best I have ever eaten along with a stalk of blue bananas. Yep! Really roughing it.

But back to Japan for a few tidbits. I was invited to speak in Kobe and Osaka on the same weekend. As they are a very short train ride apart, it was convenient to speak in Osaka on Friday night and Sabbath and then travel to Kobe Saturday evening and speak in Kobe on Sunday. As usual I was going to be flung into the kanji abyss, a taller than average traveler made even more conspicuous by wrapping myself in a misty “where am I?” aura. But on the way to the train station I ran into three lovely Indonesian students who had attended my lectures and they were more than happy to accompany me all the may to my destination station, an accomplishment that can be very daunting when traveling solo.

I had been told my ride would pick me up on the mountain side of the station. Ever notice you can’t see mountains in the dark? But I know the mountain range in Japan forms a veritable spine up the entire west side of the nation. As my angels of mercy took the escalator back down to the rail lines, I headed in the opposite direction of the east exit. East is ocean, west is mountains. This was easier than I thought it would be...I thought. You have to understand, there were exits on the north, south, east and west sides of the station and probably a few SSE’s and WNW’s thrown in for tourist amusement. But I learned long ago, find a spot, claim it and don’t move from it. As soon as you move, the person looking for you has done the same and you will miss each other big time. It rained off and on, people came and went, time went on and on. I probably stood there for two hours looking from the dark mountains to every car pulling up to the curb. For as much as senses told me to stay put, sensibility told me something was amiss. Finally I decided to explore new venues. Within two minutes of exiting the east exit, my dear friends, Keith Watanabe and his great singer wife pulled up across the road and hailed me over. The east side was the mountain side. Learn something new every day.

Packing right now but will try to post again before leaving Hawaii.

Blessings,

Don

Hawaii, First Class

Dateline: Honoka’a, Big Island, Hawaii; November 14, 2012--So much has happened since last I posted to my blog. I have not been as faithful in blogging as I should have been. Much has happened and for those who are interested, I will, over the next few days, relate some of the high points. But let me begin with the transition from Japan to Hawaii.

Sunday morning, October 28, the team from NKK drove to Harajuku. You have to know the area to appreciate the ambiance of Harajuku. The place is goth city. I suspect many tourists coming to Japan never leave this area. Entertainment walks down the street in every wave of almond-eyed Mary Pickfords and raven-haired Shirley Temples. But the team conducts a cooking school at the International and Central SDA church there. Each year we begin with a lecture. This year I spoke on a subject near and fearful to most hearts; radioactive isotopes and selective uptake. Lot of good news there if you are willing to make a few major changes. I believe Japan is ripe for some major changes.

After the lecture the people get on with their cooking and then we eat what they cooked. It was a real treat as they made something typically American; mashed potatoes and gravy. I was transported, it was so good.

Two of us were flying out that very evening. Marilene was flying back to Australia at 7 PM and I to Honolulu at 9 PM. We were driven to the heart of Tokyo which is misleading as Tokyo is too big to have just one heart. For all I know we caught an airport bus at the liver or pancreas of Tokyo, but in any case, we had a quick and comfortable ride to Narita. Marilene departed at Terminal 2 and I went on to Terminal 1. One of my suitcases had been shipped ahead so I retrieved it and went to the check-in area. It seemed as if every Oriental in the area was heading for Taiwan via Delta and there was a conga line of inscrutable travelers wrapped beyond my view. Like I tell everyone, I don’t do lines, had plenty enough lines in the military. So I found a comfortable spot and waited over an hour. 

By then the line was gone and I breezed through. Checked my two bags (really helps having an elite status), made it through security (had to drink my can of juice in front of them) and made my way to Gate 25. I was about three hours early but that was okay. Better to be three hours early than one minute late. Those at my gate were flinging off to a forgotten destination in the Middle East while down at gate 24, another Delta flight, in conjunction with Vietnam Air, was also heading for Hawaii. The thought flitted across my consciousness that it might be nice to leave early but then I considered the fact I had the best seat in economy. I always choose the same seat, the one near the exit door with no seats in front. I can stretch my long legs out, strap on my broken pair of Bose QC2 headphones (had a good set but TSA relieved me of them two years ago in Hawaii while no one was looking), and enjoy the flight.

Finally the last few passengers scurried aboard flight at Gate 25 and I was left complete alone. Periodically I heard them calling for passengers for the Gate 24 flight. Why do people wander away when their flight is due to leave I will never understand. I had it made. Computer plugged in, no crowds, quiet end of the airport. Just before 7 PM, a woman tentatively walked up to me and asked where I was going. I told her Hawaii. Then she asked, “Would you mind leaving now rather than 9 PM? And would you mind if we put you in business class?”

Would I mind? I have never worked so fast trying to stuff everything back in my backpack. “Oh, no problem, I would be happy to fly now.” I tried not to act giddy else they think me deranged and cancel their offer. But the woman was helping me, unplugging the power cord to my computer and rolling it up. We went to the gate and four women went to work feverishly trying to make this happen. The strange thing was, they kept thanking me for being willing to sacrifice my economy seat for one in Buiness Class. I was holding my breath, hoping the reason for this blessing wouldn’t evaporate with the arrival of the late passenger. They were making calls, typing away on their computer trying to have my luggage moved. Finally they handed me my boarding pass but it was in row 80. Never had I heard of business class being in the tail of a plane. I was the last one to enter the plane and rather than being directed to the rear of the plane, I was pointed up the stairs. I have always wondered what was up there, what was it like? Now I was climbing into a world I have only dreamed about.

This could not have been business class. Along each side of the cabin were a single row of cubicles. Once inside you were in your own apartment. The seat had more adjustments than an excessive-compulsive chiropractor. One turned it into a bed. Noise canceling headphones were available, as was anything and everything I could have asked. This was first class. There was a wide screen monitor, a place to power up my computer. It was a dream. Two years ago, when I flew from Narita to Honolulu, I was also upgraded. Back then I was Gold Elite; this year I was only Silver Elite but status had nothing to do with it. I believe my heavenly Father just wanted to give an extra assurance that He was looking out for me. It was a dream flight.

When we landed in Honolulu, I was the first off the plane, breezed through customs, and was at baggage claim in record time. As it turned out, my bags had not been transferred but again, I had a quiet place to collect my thoughts and make further preparation on the talk I was to give in a few hours in Puna on the Big Island, the island which is actually called Hawaii. It was to be a memorable day. It was still October 28, still Sunday. So, I delivered a lecture in Tokyo Sunday morning, October 28. Then I flew to Oahu, on to Hawaii, and delivered another lecture in Puna on Sunday afternoon, October 28. Good old International Dateline. I love God’s surprises.

Next post I will finish some business in Japan. Until then, hang loose.

Rice harvest past

Dateline: Saitama Prefecture, Japan; October 2, 2012--I have lived for 26 years in Alabama, a state that never even registered in my consciousness as even being a remote possibility of being called home. It is too hot in the summer, and hopelessly humid. Fire ants erupt out of mounds to spread fire up your legs and when, not if, they gain entrance to your home, will take souvenir snippets of your laundry back to their queen, leaving especially your white bits, riddled with holes. Armadillos do the same for the yards at night, sniffing out the plump nymphs that somehow live in clay rich and nutrient poor soil, leaving the yard looking like a tee on a municipal golf course. We also have hurricanes on occasion, but nothing like I have experienced here in Japan.

Of course, in Japan hurricanes are called typhoons but that’s where the difference ends, unless the wee fact is mentioned that a typhoon is generally stronger than a hurricane. I believe I have experienced the effects of a typhoon every time I have come to Japan. Two nights ago we were caught in the fringes of yet another. It was a great afternoon when we set out for the Hard Times store, Japan’s thrift store equivalent. While browsing the Japanese cast-offs, it began to rain and rain some more. The rain changed directions from vertical to horizontal, turning the roads into turbulent sluiceways. It was good to be off the roads and out of the deluge when we finally sailed home. Like my mother, I love storms, and the melancholy moaning of the wind calls to my heart in some primal way. But such reverie was short-lived as I discovered that my window had been left open about three inches and my desk, which occupies a spot directly under the window. Everything was soaked. My brand new computer, which I had left open, was covered with raindrops. How thankful I was that, before leaving the States, I had bought a plastic keyboard cover. The ants in the Philippines which had fled from my poking fingers down through the spaces under the keys, shorting them out, had prompted me to buy such protection. Not one drop made it into the gliibleyworks. My wireless mouse didn’t fare so well. But I am thankful to still have my computer working.

From these mountains they came

Typhoons blow hard here. I live in basically an apartment over a storage room. It is not much more than four walls enclosing two floors. It is hotter in hot weather and then colder in cold weather than the outside ambient temperature. But I love it. This night, the night of the tail of the typhoon, the building shook like a trembling beast, moans coming from above, below and all around. It was quite a ride. And then, as if it had drawn its last breath, all was still. Great lullaby.

I somethings forget what nostalgic roads I have wandered with those who read my blogs, so I might be wandering over some familiar territory this evening. Forgive the repetition or you are welcome for the reiteration, whichever one fits. But I am in Japan and many emotions rise within me while over here. 

The war had not been over quite two years when I was born. My uncle, Marine Staff Sergeant Gordon Miller, had been lost flying out of Guadalcanal a little over four years earlier. My uncle George Martin, we call him Bud, had returned from the war having survived the attack on Pearl Harbor and flown the Hump as a pilot in the Army Air Corps. My parents, both former Marines, were scratching out a living on a farm in Harrison, Ohio. And the terrible wounds, some of which would never be salved, began to slip into the past. I only saw this from the American perspective. But over here, in Japan, people hurt too. As I travel past the mountains, across the plains, wend my way through the rice fields, I realize these aging homes also sent their sons off to war.

My uncle was a poet and a poem was found in his effects after he went missing. As a child growing up, I loved this simple yet profound poem. I would read it, then finger his Purple Heart and other medals, wondering what he was like. I have always missed him. But how many of the ancients do I see here, bent down under a load of years and as inscrutable as is the national wont, still carry the scars of such a devastating war? What happens to the soul of a generation which has seen such destruction of the very flower of its youth? And if I sent it out before, well here it is again. It is just that running past the rice fields day by day, seeing the people laboring to bring in the harvest, I hear en echo.

The Sons of War

They knelt upon tatami mats

And drank their Saki down;

Tomorrow they would leave their homes

To serve the flag and crown.

They left their mountain hamlet towns,

They left the rice-green plain;

Those precious sights, they knew somehow,

Would not be seen again.

Honshu gave her finest youth,

Kyushu offered more;

Hokkaido and Shikoku both

Consigned their sons to war.

Mother’s wept, as mothers do,

While watched inscrutable

The fathers, as their sons, their heirs,

Fed Ares’ crucible.

And swelling past the rising sun,

Beyond the beckoning deep,

The tide of war crashed on the shore

With thunderous marshaling beat.

The Pearl in the Pacific felt

The first of conflict’s waves;

And ushered souls, too soon, into

Two thousand watery graves.

Then from Pacific’s coasts across

To Atlas’ shores they rose;

The finest youth, the nation’s blood,

Marched bold into war’s throes.

Two worlds of youth, of boys-cum-men,

Met on broad fields of fire;

And fought to gain the victory

To which both would aspire.

Alas, but one who struggled there

Could gain the victor’s prize;

But win or lose, it cost the same;

The blood of countless lives.

Long after war was swept away,

And friends were made of foes,

Still lie the bones ‘neath sea and sod,

Still stand the cross’ed rows.

It seems past conception that modern man would still seek to solve his differences by such barbarianism. But mad men have always found their way to the top, where they have looked down on their subjects and ordered them into untimely graves merely to fulfill their ambitions. And now Islam, as Catholicism did of old, seeks to subjugate the world through force of arms. And still the young men march off to war. To the allies serving their countries in this current struggle against the evils of insane religions fervor, I salute you and pray for you.

Farewell to Friends

When I was young and time was too,

I couldn’t wait till school was through;

For Summer held a thousand charms,

So rushed I to her waiting arms.

In her embrace we wiled away

Each long and happy school-less day;

I had no cares, no math, no verbs;

No book reports nor scolding words.

The fragrance of the new mown grass,

July the fourth’s bright fireworks’ flash;

The swimming pool at Oakley Park,

The lightening bugs once it was dark.

The ice cream man still walked his beat,

The gaslights then still lit the streets;

We’d hotdogs grilled in dancing flames,

And played in gutters when it rained.

The time stood still for children then,

It seemed that youth would never end;

No cares could mar our happiness,

We thrived in childish blissfulness.

We could not see what lay ahead,

Except at night we’d go to bed,

To welcome in another day

Once the night had slept away.

But some of those back then I knew,

Who lived and laughed and quickly grew

Into the men who marched away,

Have long in soldier’s coffins lay.

I thank you each for what you shared,

The times we played, the times we dared;

For golden memories long ago,

What it meant you’ll never know.

You may have slept in Flanders lea,

Or lay you down at Normandy;

On Iwo’s sands you may have died,

Or stemming Chosen’s yellow tide.

Perhaps in Nam you met your end,

Where ‘ere it was, I miss you friend;

And still you march, and fight and die,

From Eastern sands you pass me by.

Farewell, farewell, to youth, to age,

There’s nothing decades can assuage;

But all you meant to me back then,

Will still be with me till my end.

Dateline: Saniku Gakuin College in Ōtaki, Chiba, Japan; September 20, 2012--When one plants an apple tree, it is with the greatest anticipation of someday being able to gather fruit from its now unpromising branches. You tend it like a child, pouring your all into its maturing. You realize it will take at least two years, often more, before your labors are rewarded. Thus it is with the schools Uchee Pines conducts in conjunction with Nihon Kensei Kyokai here in Japan.

The schools (we start a new one every year) ideally take two years, summers inclusive, to complete. For three summers the classes meet for a one week intensive before heading home with a year's worth of homework. Two retired college professors teach the anatomy and physiology section. Though elderly, they are as capable as any young professor. In one trip to Japan, we will hold at least one session for all three summer Phases. 

Our most recent dedication (graduation) took place at Saniku Gaukin. Five students had completed their studies, received their certificates, and returned to their homes to continue working. You might wonder how they can continue their work since normally at graduation people are only just beginning. No so here. From the first year the students are required to put into practice the things they have learned and to bring back the following year evidence they have indeed been working. Special forms are given to each student which they in turn give to those to whom they minister. Whether it be a massage, a counseling session, or a public lecture, we want them evaluated by an outsider.

As you can see from the photo, it is not your typical photo of graduates. No caps and gowns but a garland of gray around the temples, if not covering the entire pate. This class included a successful businessman, an osteopath, a widowed pensioner, a city councilwoman, and the wife of a major university professor. It is exceedingly hard to interest the young people in this work because is carries little prestige (for now), promises a paupers remuneration (down here), and basically demands that the practitioners also be the practicers of the lifestyle we teach. Most people today feel as though this is too great a restriction. One need only view the documentary Forks Over Knives by T. Colin Campbell, Ph.D. and Caldwell B. Esselstyn, Jr., M.D., to understand that a healthy lifestyle is  an imperative, not an option.

This year we also conducted our first seminar for cancer patients with the purpose of focusing on the element of faith as an integral part of the healing process. Using the remarkable work of Drs. Daniel J. Benor and Randolph C. Byrd as a springboard, we sought to instill within the women (they were all women) a confidence in a Supreme Being who loves them infinitely. Two were in stage 4 which makes such a seminar all the more vital.

A number of years ago the college here in Chiba paced me on their teaching staff in anticipation of becoming a four year college. One of majors at the college is nursing and they wanted the students to have an opportunity to learn something about hydrotherapy and the scientific validation of simple remedies. Last year was the first class I was able to teach. This year ten students elected to take this three day very intensive course. Seven hours of teaching and practice a day for three long days. When and where the information will find expression is not up to us; circumstances will sooner or later dictate the change to using readily available natural remedies. As I lay in bed a few nights ago and felt two waves of earthquakes rock my room like it was driving over railroad tracks, I felt a sense of urgency for this work here in Japan. Japan is a tough field to work.

But there is an island of hope in this sea called Japan; fruit is maturing. This week two of our graduates assisted the nursing course. One had just been dedicated on Monday. The load lifted from our shoulders (my translator and me) was tremendous. But even greater, to see our graduates going right to work is so heartening. It is time for Japan to carry its burden and some willing and capable hands have been strengthened for the work through this simple Lifestyle Educator course.

Dateline: Saniku Gakuin College in Ōtaki, Chiba, Japan; September 20, 2012--A hot bath! Now, that’s about the last thing one would want in Japan at this time of the year. Upon my arrival at Narita International four weeks ago, it felt as if I had arrived back in Alabama on the most gnarly day of an insufferable summer. As the weary passengers shuffled and wrestled their carry-ons up the cool aisles after a 13 hour flight from New York, we hit a hot wall of pure humidity. Japan had become one seamless onsen from Kagoshima to Aomori and I was dressed for 38,000 feet. And now a hot bath?

No, I am not taking the hot bath. I have been called many things, masochist not being one of them. It is practice time and my only male student is cooking (practicing a hydrotherapy treatment) a volunteer up here in Chiba prefecture at Saniku Gakuin, a college formerly known as Japanese Missionary College. A few years ago, in order to build their staff as they transitioned to four year level, I was added to the teaching staff. The idea was to introduce 4th year nursing students to what once was a cornerstone of the nursing experience; hydrotherapy and other simple remedies. It is all well and good to have all the modern medical conveniences at your beck and call, but what happens when the pharmacy is closed or non-existent? What happens when you find yourself far from the smell of isopropanol and betadine? It would seem prudent to at least be familiar with the rudiments of the physiology of water and its amazing salutary affects upon the body. 

The goal in this practice is to raise the student’s temperature to around 40 degrees celsius (104^oF) without causing cardiac arrest, projectile vomiting or unconsciousness. Having never experienced any of these exceedingly rare consequences in my years of practicing this type of therapy, I am more intent in the proper procedures, the sense of the patient’s needs and the treatment’s requirements.

The volunteer is a young man I met last year. He is a theology student although be has no intention of becoming a pastor. He graduated from university with a degree in architecture. But that did not seem to fulfill him so he went in to retail sales and was very successful for ten years. But something was still missing. He came to this stark realization one day while waiting for a train. As it approached the station, he felt compelled to throw himself over the tracks. In Japan, this happens at least once a week. He knew he was in trouble. He felt compelled to go to a church. Finding one, he sought out the pastor who just happened to be on the grounds. He told the pastor of his dissatisfaction and his earlier compulsion to end his life. Right then and there the pastor told him of the great hope a Christian has, of a Burden-Bearer and a Friend at all times. When he finished, this young man asked to be baptized. The wise pastor knew that would not be wise so he began Bible studies with the restless young man. He was later baptized and decided to come to Saniku to pursue theology, not as a profession but rather to gain a deeper understanding of this Power that saved his life. And now he was approaching 104^o. 

It has been a very busy schedule since arriving in Japan. Needless to say, with eleven time zone changes, jet lag is always waiting to pounce on me a couple days after arriving. It is strange that it waits two or three days, lulling me into a mistaken sense that I have grown immune to its overwhelming weight. So, having arrived on a Thursday afternoon, I had a pretty good Friday and Sabbath. Then Sunday, the day our seminar for cancer patients began at a large Woman’s Cultural Center, jet-lag squished me like a bug. I am not immune. Moretocome.

Eastern Europe coming and going

Dateline: Podis, Romania; December 22, 2011—My grandmother once told me I should eat the heart of the watermelon first, and then the seeded part, that way if I ran out of appetite before I ran out of watermelon, I would have already eaten the best part. But another sage has said we should save the best for last. Being again on the road, I am hoping before this trip is over that I have realized the second maxim, because the beginning of the overseas part of this journey has been everything but tasty.

In reality, my journey began December 6 when I left for Maryland. Knowing I would have time to organize my belongings up there, I packed with reckless abandon, stuffing my car like a Christmas goose. My time in Maryland was spent pleasantly with my mother and for a week with my three sisters. Whereas I will be far away from loved ones during the holidays, it was a blessing to be with these four special people on the rare occasion when we are all together.

The night before leaving for Europe I worked until midnight, then arose early the next morning to finish my project and pack for the second time in two weeks. The project took longer than I had hoped and the fine dinner my mother prepared went untasted as I tried to “lighten my wagon.” Along with a large quantity of natural health items such as DMSO, menthol camphor and a large array of wonderful salves made by a friend of mine, Mike Bunnell. If you need some good salves, go to ourfathershealingsalves.com.

I bought a hand baggage scale for such occasions because I hate getting burned for excess weight on flights. I am waiting for the day when the baggage and the passenger all climb on the scales together, one weight. Those of us who are thin would be able to carry more hand baggage than those carrying excess body baggage. But I doubt I will see that day. My goal was to have my two check-in bags right at the allowable weight of 50 lbs and my carry-on at 20 lbs. Pack, weight, dump; pack, weigh, dump. My flight was scheduled to depart for New York then Paris then Bucharest at 17:35. It was close to 14:45 when we finally turned onto the highway heading for BWI. Don’t like to cut things so close but this just couldn’t be helped.

Still concerned I might be overweight, I began pulling things out of the suitcases. Shirts, trousers, this and that. When I finally arrived in Romani and put my things away, I found I had three blue shirts and one black shirt left; two blue sweaters, and four pair of dress slacks. But before that, when we skidded into the BWI departures area and I lugged my way to the ticket counter, I found I was about 10 pounds under my allowable weight. And I was completely through everything and sitting at the gate about an hour and a half before my flight.

From BWI we flew to New York, a flight all of about 20-25 minutes. Then I sat there far longer than you want to sit in JFK before taking off for Paris. Had a long layover in Paris which was nice. Went to the Sky Club and had a nice breakfast and high speed internet before reboarding for Bucharest.

It was raining in Romania when the plane landed, a very cold and large rain. When you would look up into the street lights you would see snow and somehow in those flakes last few meters to earth they rose above the latent heat of fusion and splashed on the cold earth. Someone had been dispatched to take me to Bucharest de Nord, the central train station. The temperature was falling and it was a long wait but finally the train to Bacau arrived and I pulled my tired body aboard. It was about a six hour ride through the dark Romanian night and when we finally arrived, it was snowing. My friend Radu met me, at nearly 3 AM, and took me home to Podis and there my work began.

Dateline: Podis, Romania; March 18, 2012—I have been both terrible remiss and overwhelmingly busy the last three months so this is my first post. I will try, over the course of the next ten days, to give a few of the high points of my trip…and some of the low points. Thank you for your patience.

God bless,

Don