OUT OF EDEN WALK

Walking partner Tomonori “Rip” Tanaka was leading the way. He usually led the way. He performed hours of mindful exercises every morning before dawn. He’d been all over the world on snowboarding and skateboarding exhibitions. He was in incredible physical condition. A true athlete. He ate super healthy. He was also a devotee of the Buddhist philosopher and poet Kukai. We were rounding the edges of Lake Biwa.

I asked Rip about the lake.

I knew vaguely that it held strategic value during old Shoganate times because of its water transportation. But Rip, who on top of everything else was a gifted photographer, wasn’t forthcoming. He said what he always told me when it came to Japanese history. “Don’t ask me that stuff, man. Ask someone else. I was cleaning toilets in school. A lot.” By which he meant: He was a rebel. He’d left Japan at an early age and gone to hang out with California surfers. Perhaps this was why he often used the word “crispy.” I hadn’t the slightest idea what this word meant, slang-wise. I’d been walking outside the States for a dozen solid years. I was as unplugged as Rumpelstiltskin. Reduced to making certain inferences. One afternoon, for instance, a beautiful rainbow glowed over Lake Biwa. Rip called it crispy. So I surmised it was a compliment. Rip once told me, with a grimace of pity, that I only used my body to carry my brain around. He was probably right.