"Every time I am shown to an old, dimly lit, and, I would add, impeccably clean tolet in a Nara or Kyoto temple, I am impressed with the singular virtues of Japanese architecture. The parlor may have its charms, but the Japanese toilet truly is a place of spiritual repose. It always stands apart from the main building, at the end of the corridor, in a grove fragant with leaves and moss. No words can describe the sensation as one sits in the dim light, basking in the faint glow reflected from the shoji, lost in mediatation or gazing out at the garden. The novelist Natsume Soseki counted his morning trips to the toilet a great pleasure, 'a physiological delight' he called it. And surely there could be no better place to savor this pleasure than a Japanese toilet where, surrounded by tranquil walls and finely grained wood, one looks out upon blue skies and green leaves.
As I have said there are certain prerequisites: a degree of dimness, absolute cleanliness, and a quiet so complete one can hear the hum of a mosquito. I love to listen from such a toilet to the sound of softly falling rain, especially if it is a tiolet of the Kanto region, with its long narrow windows at floor level; there one can listen with such a sense of intimacy to the raindrops falling from the leaves and the trees, seeping into the earth as they wash over the base of a stone lantern and freshen the moss about the stepping stone. And the toilet is the perfect place to listen to the chirping of insects or the song of the birds, to view the moon, or to enjoy any of those poignant moments that mark the change of the seasons. Here, I suspect, is where haiku poets over the ages have come by a great many of their ideas. Indeed one could with some justice claim that of all the elements of Japanese architecture the toilet is the most aesthetic. Our forebears, making poetry of everything in their lives, transformed what by rights should be the most unsanitary room in the house into a place of unsurpassed elegance, replete with fond associations with the beauties of nature.
- Jun'ichiro Tanizaki, a twentieth century novelist, in his book In Praise of Shadows (Leete's Island Books, p. 3f)
As I have said there are certain prerequisites: a degree of dimness, absolute cleanliness, and a quiet so complete one can hear the hum of a mosquito. I love to listen from such a toilet to the sound of softly falling rain, especially if it is a tiolet of the Kanto region, with its long narrow windows at floor level; there one can listen with such a sense of intimacy to the raindrops falling from the leaves and the trees, seeping into the earth as they wash over the base of a stone lantern and freshen the moss about the stepping stone. And the toilet is the perfect place to listen to the chirping of insects or the song of the birds, to view the moon, or to enjoy any of those poignant moments that mark the change of the seasons. Here, I suspect, is where haiku poets over the ages have come by a great many of their ideas. Indeed one could with some justice claim that of all the elements of Japanese architecture the toilet is the most aesthetic. Our forebears, making poetry of everything in their lives, transformed what by rights should be the most unsanitary room in the house into a place of unsurpassed elegance, replete with fond associations with the beauties of nature.
- Jun'ichiro Tanizaki, a twentieth century novelist, in his book In Praise of Shadows (Leete's Island Books, p. 3f)
Contemporary tea master Soestsu Yanagi says that "The Way of Tea is a way of salvation through beauty."
-quoted in Rand Castile's The Way of Tea (Weatherhill, 1971), p.82
I just don't know what to say. Thats just so weird . . . and different. And I think maybe really awesome.
ReplyDeleteOh the cultural differences. You know the Roman officers had a seperate washroom just form them. And sat around and had nice conversations while doing so . . . It was considered very relaxing.
Whish I could quote a source on that but I remember it from Roman history class actually. And there is also a hilarious potrayal of it in one of my historical fiction books. (Which is in Ottawa of course.)
And we all know that the seat of emotion is the bowels . . . "I love you, with all my bowels!"