Travel to Mongolia -9- Chuang-tzu’s “The Dream of a Butterfly”
Sky, sun, wind and sand.
Sometimes we can see mountains in the distance. Sometimes we can’t see anything.
Should I say there is nothing, or should I say there are countless things?
When I started walking alone towards this “nothing”, I was assailed by a feeling of strange.
The me in Tokyo who was living an efficient life, the me in the café working away at my PC or smartphone, began to fade away and waver. It was like in a dream.
Don’t you ever wonder if it was really a real dream, or if there is another world out there where you are living a different life after waking up?
The reality I am waking up is about to spill out from under my feet like sand.
It can’t be a dream. In a few days I will be back in Tokyo, and if I put things in chronological order, I should have come from Tokyo. I repeat it over and over in my head. Even so, everything becomes dim.
Which me is real me?
The one who is connected to the world through a small box called a PC.
The one who feels the world directly on self skin and with all self senses.
In a place where there is no shade as far as the eye can see, the sun’s rays shine straight down on me. The world is right in front of me with a magnitude that makes me dizzy.
I wonder which I belong to: the silence of dozens of people in a café, all looking at their computers, or the silence of no one else, where I hesitate to open my mouth because of the scale of nature.
The sun is beating down on my neck.
I wonder if I have been here from long time ago.
Will I be in this place from now on forever?
I remember Chuang-tzu’s the dream of a butterfly.
Will I be a butterfly in the dream, or will butterfly be me in the dream?
I stopped suddenly, as if the sand under my feet was about to crumble away and my hands were about to break into sand. This beautiful place is frightening for me.
Bearded Eagle Valley. Altitude 2800 m. Cold even in summer.
Whenever I look at the rocky mountains that appear one after another, many stories come to my mind. Profound stories.
This is a sand dune where the sand is blown by the wind.
Even during filming, the footing realistically crumbles more and more.
Every time I breathed, sand got into my throat.
Every time the wind blew in my ears, it also brought sand.
Every time I danced, every movement of my arms, every movement of my face, my body turns into sand.
It mixed with the flying sand.
The contours disappeared.
My skin became sand. It flied far away.
In the thick clouds and endless sand, I was decomposed to sands.
If you want to read in Japanese, here!
「荘子」より。 ゴビ砂漠に到着した。空、太陽、風、そして砂。遠くに山が見えるときもある。なにも見えないときもある。なにもないというべきなのだろうか、無数にあるというべきなのだろうか。 ...
-10- Red land, Bayanzag