We were taken under Yoshida- sensei’s all-encompassing wing – a wing with an eagle’s span. We left our lives as individuals at the entrance to the dojo and transformed on the spot, without a word being spoken, into the disciples of Master Jun Yoshida. Like an orthodox religion with codes of eating and dress predetermined, everything was decided for us. We had our place in a group, in a country where nothing mattered more. Our clothes, worn out from travel, were soon replaced by the unofficial dojo uniform, the blue “training wear.” And wearing what everyone else wore indicated we could be identified. Now, with no expectations of what living in the dojo would be like, the prospect of an ordered life with parameters didn’t seem particularly onerous. I seldom knew when or where we’d sleep, what we’d eat, who we might encounter. He clearly didn’t expect me.ĭuring our year of travel, no day was like the one that had preceded it. Billy had written he’d be accompanied by his wife and daughter, but this man Noda didn’t appear to expect us. We were originally supposed to have arrived at the dojo a full year earlier. Mousy, he looked even more mouse-like as he surveyed us with what seemed to be suspicion. “Call me Noda,” a small man in a blue training suit said.

Photo: Japan Times Absolute obedience was a given But now, exhausted and vaguely aware we didn’t have to keep our eyes on our dirty backpacks and our child, Billy and I fell in and out of sleep as the train sped us past Mt. There was no sense that could tell us if the water was safe to drink, and that stayed a concern of mine for quite a while. And by that time, we’d developed senses that told us when we were safe, when it was okay to close our eyes, when it was all right to sleep. If we’d looked out of the right side of the train, we would’ve seen Mt. I don’t know how he confirmed it, but he said, “This is the one we take.” He had the directions to the dojo and got us to the train. It was the silence of not understanding any spoken word. Although crowded at midday, the silence in the airport enveloped me. Arriving at Haneda Airport in Tokyo, Billy changed out money, the 50 dollars we had left.

The view from breast pocket mountain