The Roots of the Feast 1

''Poetic Choices: '' Japan, Edo period. You are Matsuo Basho, legendary poet. You live in the busy city of Edo. After composing with Nishiyama Soin, founder and leader of the Darnin school, a deep inspiration strikes you. Is it melancholy? Is it bliss? Whatever it is, this undeniable and sincere urge to compose, needs to be captured. You decide to depart the city and travel Edo's roads. At the crack of dawn, on the very next day, you walk out of your home. You still carry yesterday's weird feeling. No matter. You are embarking on a journey of your own choosing. At the of North edge of town, you ponder where to go on your pilgrimage: [[The mountain: Mount Fuji.]] [[The stream: Shinano River.]] [[The restaurant: Tamahide.]]

You know of the perils that inhabit the roads of Mount Fuji. But you are undeterred. Stubornely you march onwards. Your poetry is what matters most. After a long, arduous climb, you reach the mountain's peak. It is cold, but the view is breathtaking, so you sit down against a comfortable rock and take out your quill and paper. What will be your opening line? [[The morning glory also]] [[Winter solitude--]] [[Cold night: the wild duck,]]

Behind the castle there is a dock, where an old ferryman takes you down the stream in a wooden boat. You sit at the stern, gazing out over the tranquil waters and conjure up yesterday's inspiration. Balancing your notepad on your knees, you take out your quill and write your first line: [[The old pond]] [[What fish feel]] [[Spring rain]]

Everyone knows that great poetry cannot be written on an empty stomach. You return to the busy Kyoto streets, you make your way towards your favorite restraunt Tamahide, to have a last dish of oyakodon. Your mouth waters just thinking about it. While you wait for your order, you grab a napkin and jot down your first line: [[The squid seller's call]] [[Taking a nap,]] [[This old village--]]

(set: $line1 to "Not a single house") Genius! Teeth chattering in the cold, you clench your quill between cramping fingers and scribble down your first line. If you stay up here much longer, you will freeze, so you try to come up with your next line quickly: [[The morning glory also]] [[In a world of no color.]] [[A mirror of ancient calm]]

(set: $line1 to "Against a cool wall") Genius! Teeth chattering in the cold, you clench your quill between cramping fingers and scribble down your first line. If you stay up here much longer, you will freeze, so you try to come up with your next line quickly: [[The morning glory also]] [[In a world of no color.]] [[A mirror of ancient calm]]

(set: $line1 to "In the morning dew") The Triple Whopper tastes as sumptious as it always does, and as you're munching you try not to get any grease on your developing masterpiece. After the final bite, you lick your fingers and the next line pops into your head: [[Give it new colors]] [[Writing a future]] [[Washing over me]]

(set: $line1 to "Birds feel, I don't know") The ferry man points at a riverbed. You arrive at your destination tranquily. After stepping off the boat carefully so as not to wet your notepad. You sit on the warm sand listening to the sounds of the river's flow. All things are transient. Inspired by the scenery you compose your next line: [[I cannot fathom better]] [[All pain is temporary]] [[Calm spirits, warm waters]]

(set: $line1 to "It has rained enough") The ferry man points at a riverbed. You arrive at your destination tranquily. After stepping off the boat carefully so as not to wet your notepad, you sit on the warm sand listening to the sounds of the river's flow. All things are transient. Inspired by the scenery you compose your next line: [[I cannot fathom better]] [[All pain is temporary]] [[Calm spirits, warm waters]]

(set: $line1 to "What fish feel") The ferry man points at a riverbed. You arrive at your destination tranquily. After stepping off the boat carefully so as not to wet your notepad, you sit on the warm sand listening to the sounds of the river's flow. All things are transient. Inspired by the scenery you compose your next line: [[I cannot fathom better]] [[All pain is temporary]] [[Calm spirits, warm waters]]

(set: $line1 to "The squid seller's call") //$line1// The oyakodon tastes as sumptuous as ever, and as you're savoring it you try not to get any grease on your developing masterpiece. After the final bite, you lick your fingers and the next line pops into your head: [[mingles with the voice]] [[feet planted]] [[not a single house]]

(set: $line1 to "Leaking through the roof") The Triple Whopper tastes as sumptious as it always does, and as you're munching you try not to get any grease on your developing masterpiece. After the final bite, you lick your fingers and the next line pops into your head: [[Give it new colors]] [[Writing a future]] [[Washing over me]]

(set: $line1 to "Drills into the rocks") Genius! Teeth chattering in the cold, you clench your quill between cramping fingers and scribble down your first line. If you stay up here much longer, you will freeze, so you try to come up with your next line quickly: [[The morning glory also]] [[In a world of no color.]] [[A mirror of ancient calm]]

(set: $line1 to "The morning glory also") Teeth chattering in the cold, you clench your quill between cramping fingers and scribble down your first line. //$line1// "Genius!" you can't help but think to yourself. But this first stroke of brilliance has cost you valuable time. The sun is setting and the temperature is dropping. If you stay up here much longer, you will freeze, so you conjure up that indiscernible feeling again and author your next line quickly: [[turns out]] [[in a world of one color]] [[A mirror of ancient calm]]

$line1 (set: $line2 to "in a world of one color") $line2 Not bad, not bad! You can't feel your extremities and your ink is nearly frozen solid, so time to finish your haiku as fast as possible and get back to civilization. You write: [[Reaching for sunset]] [[Of winters long gone]] [[A cool emptiness]]

$line1 (set: $line2 to "A mirror of ancient calm") $line2 Not bad, not bad! You can't feel your extremities and your ink is nearly frozen solid, so time to finish your haiku as fast as possible and get back to civilization. You write: [[Reaching for sunset]] [[Of winters long gone]] [[A cool emptiness]]

(set: $line3 to "Reaching for sunset") [[You leave the mountain behind you]]

(set: $line3 to "Of winters long gone") [[You leave the mountain behind you]]

(set: $line3 to "A cool emptiness") [[You leave the mountain behind you]]

$line1 (set: $line2 to "Give it new colors") $line2 "Hey, you! You with the black fingers!" the burger guy yells suddenly. "You haven't paid yet!" Quickly patting your pockets, you realize that in your daydreaming journey to this place, you completely forgot to bring your wallet. You grab your napkin and make a run for it. While you dodge and weave through the crowd, the final line of your poem occurs to you: [[Sitting quietly]] [[Soon we must wade out]] [[New leaves are budding]]

$line1 (set: $line2 to "Writing a future") $line2 "Hey, you! You with the black fingers!" the burger guy yells suddenly. "You haven't paid yet!" Quickly patting your pockets, you realize that in your daydreaming journey to this place, you completely forgot to bring your wallet. You grab your napkin and make a run for it. While you dodge and weave through the crowd, the final line of your poem occurs to you: [[Sitting quietly]] [[Soon we must wade out]] [[New leaves are budding]]

(set: $line1 to "Washing over me") //$line1// "Hey, you! You with the black fingers!" the burger guy yells suddenly. "You haven't paid yet!" Quickly patting your pockets, you realize that in your daydreaming journey to this place, you completely forgot to bring your wallet. You grab your napkin and make a run for it. While you dodge and weave through the crowd, the final line of your poem occurs to you: [[Sitting quietly]] [[Soon we must wade out]] [[New leaves are budding]]

(set: $line3 to "Sitting quietly") [[You leave the alleyway behind you.]]

(set: $line3 to "Soon we must wade out") [[You leave the alleyway behind you.]]

(set: $line3 to "New leaves are budding") [[You leave the alleyway behind you.]]

You return to the busy streets of Edo. The news of your arrival travels quickly through the busy markets. Before you could reach your home, your disciples have heard of your return, and have eagerly gathered outside your hut to hear your new words. You proudly recite: //$line1 $line2 $line3// (text-colour:purple)[[Recommence.]]

As you are returning home, the news of your meal travels quickly through the busy markets. Before you can reach your home, your disciples have heard of your adventure, and have eagerly gathered outside your hut to hear your wise words. You proudly recite: //$line1 $line2 $line3// (text-colour:purple)[[Recommence.]]

$line1 (set: $line2 to "I cannot fathom better") $line2 You start to notice that you are not alone. Dragonflies levitate around lillypads. Frogs wade in the water. Cranes fly high in the sky. You contemplate the life of these creatures. A life that is both simple yet brutal. Do they know heart ache? Is their hunger ever satisfied? Questions left unanswered. Your hand hovers over the last line, quill at the ready. How will you complete your poem? [[A monk sips morning tea]] [[the sound of the water jar]] [[the wild duck falls from the sky]]

$line1 (set: $line2 to "All pain is temporary") $line2 You start to notice that you are not alone. Dragonflies levitate around lillypads. Frogs wade in the water. Cranes fly high in the sky. You contemplate the life of these creatures. A life that is both simple yet brutal. Do they know heart ache? Is their hunger ever satisfied? Questions left unanswered. Your hand hovers over the last line, quill at the ready. How will you complete your poem? [[A monk sips morning tea]] [[the sound of the water jar]] [[the wild duck falls from the sky]]

$line1 $line2 (set: $line2 to "Calm spirits, warm waters") You start to notice that you are not alone. Dragonflies levitate around lillypads. Frogs wade in the water. Cranes fly high in the sky. You contemplate the life of these creatures. A life that is both simple yet brutal. Do they know heart ache? Is their hunger ever satisfied? Questions left unanswered. Your hand hovers over the last line, quill at the ready. How will you complete your poem? [[A monk sips morning tea]] [[the sound of the water jar]] [[the wild duck falls from the sky]]

(set: $line3 to "A monk sips morning tea") [[The ferry man waves at you, it is time to return.]]

(set: $line3 to "the sound of the water jar") [[The ferry man waves at you, it is time to return.]]

(set: $line3 to "the wild duck falls from the sky") [[The ferry man waves at you, it is time to return.]]

(set: $line1 to "The old pond") //$line1// The ferry man points at a riverbed. You arrive at your destination tranquilly. After stepping off the boat carefully so as not to wet your notepad. You sit on the warm sand listening to the sounds of the river's flow. All things are transient. Inspired by the scenery you compose your next line: [[A frog leaps in]] [[birds feel, I don't know--]] [[leakage through the roof]]

(set: $line2 to "A frog leaps in") //$line1// //$line2// You start to notice that you are not alone. Dragonflies levitate around lily pads. Frogs wade in the water. Cranes fly high in the sky. You contemplate the life of these creatures. A life that is both simple yet brutal. Do they know heart ache? Is their hunger ever satisfied? Questions left unanswered. Your hand hovers over the last line, quill at the ready. How will you complete your poem? [[the sound of water]] [[the year ending.]] [[dripping from the wasps' nest.]]

(set: $line3 to "the sound of water") Finished. The poem is complete. You gaze out one last time at the creatures and critters that inhabit the river. A sense of envy and wander washes over you. What is it like to be an animal? What is it like to live in someone else's skin? What is it like to be another? A yell pulls you out of your trance. [[The ferry man waves at you, it is time to return.]]

(set: $line1 to "What fish feel") //$line1// The ferry man points at a riverbed. You arrive at your destination tranquilly. After stepping off the boat carefully so as not to wet your notepad. You sit on the warm sand listening to the sounds of the river's flow. All things are transient. Inspired by the scenery you compose your next line: [[A frog leaps in]] [[birds feel, I don't know--]] [[leakage through the roof]]

(set: $line2 to "birds feel, I don't know--") //$line1// //$line2// You start to notice that you are not alone. Dragonflies levitate around lily pads. Frogs wade in the water. Cranes fly high in the sky. You contemplate the life of these creatures. A life that is both simple yet brutal. Do they know heart ache? Is their hunger ever satisfied? Questions left unanswered. Your hand hovers over the last line, quill at the ready. How will you complete your poem? [[the sound of water]] [[the year ending.]] [[dripping from the wasps' nest.]]

(set: $line3 to "the year ending.") Finished. The poem is complete. You gaze out one last time at the creatures and critters that inhabit the river. A sense of envy and wander washes over you. What is it like to be an animal? What is it like to live in someone else's skin? What is it like to be another? A yell pulls you out of your trance. [[The ferry man waves at you, it is time to return.]]

(set: $line1 to "Spring rain") //$line1// The ferry man points at a riverbed. You arrive at your destination tranquilly. After stepping off the boat carefully so as not to wet your notepad. You sit on the warm sand listening to the sounds of the river's flow. All things are transient. Inspired by the scenery you compose your next line: [[A frog leaps in]] [[birds feel, I don't know--]] [[leakage through the roof]]

(set: $line2 to "leakage through the roof") //$line1// //$line2// You start to notice that you are not alone. Dragonflies levitate around lily pads. Frogs wade in the water. Cranes fly high in the sky. You contemplate the life of these creatures. A life that is both simple yet brutal. Do they know heart ache? Is their hunger ever satisfied? Questions left unanswered. Your hand hovers over the last line, quill at the ready. How will you complete your poem? [[the sound of water]] [[the year ending.]] [[dripping from the wasps' nest.]]

(set: $line3 to "dripping from the wasps' nest") Finished. The poem is complete. You gaze out one last time at the creatures and critters that inhabit the river. A sense of envy and wander washes over you. What is it like to be an animal? What is it like to live in someone else's skin? What is it like to be another? A yell pulls you out of your trance. [[The ferry man waves at you, it is time to return.]]

(set: $line2 to "mingles with the voice") //$line1// //$line2// "Hey, you! You with the black fingers!" Mr. Yamada yells suddenly. "You haven't paid yet!" Quickly patting your pockets, you realize that in your daydreaming journey to the restaurant place, you completely forgot to bring your wallet. In a panic, you grab your napkin and make a run for it. While you dodge and weave through the crowd, the final line of your poem occurs to you: [[of the cuckoo.]] [[against a cool wall.]] [[without persimmon trees.]]

(set: $line3 to "of the cuckoo.") You're sprinting. The poem is in your head. You got it! Elated by your completed work your steps seem to take flight through the busy streets. Or is it the panic of being caught by Mr. Yamada? You spot an alleyway out of the corner of your left eye, and jump in. Crouching behind crates to remain hidden, you complete your poem. It is done! That mysterious feeling now crystalized and immortalized on what once was an unimportant napkin. You clutch it to your chest for a moment still panting from running out of the restaurant. Moments pass. With your breath recollected and the coast clear, you make your way through the busy market home. [[You leave the alleyway behind you.]]

(set: $line1 to "Taking a nap,") //$line1// The oyakodon tastes as sumptuous as ever, and as you're savoring it you try not to get any grease on your developing masterpiece. After the final bite, you lick your fingers and the next line pops into your head: [[mingles with the voice]] [[feet planted]] [[not a single house]]

(set: $line2 to "feet planted") //$line1// //$line2// "Hey, you! You with the black fingers!" Mr. Yamada yells suddenly. "You haven't paid yet!" Quickly patting your pockets, you realize that in your daydreaming journey to the restaurant place, you completely forgot to bring your wallet. In a panic, you grab your napkin and make a run for it. While you dodge and weave through the crowd, the final line of your poem occurs to you: [[of the cuckoo.]] [[against a cool wall.]] [[without persimmon trees.]]

(set: $line3 to "against a cool wall.") You're sprinting. The poem is in your head. You got it! Elated by your completed work your steps seem to take flight through the busy streets. Or is it the panic of being caught by Mr. Yamada? You spot an alleyway out of the corner of your left eye, and jump in. Crouching behind crates to remain hidden, you complete your poem. It is done! That mysterious feeling now crystalized and immortalized on what once was an unimportant napkin. You clutch it to your chest for a moment still panting from running out of the restaurant. Moments pass. With your breath recollected and the coast clear, you make your way through the busy market home. [[You leave the alleyway behind you.]]

(set: $line1 to "This old village--") //$line1// The oyakodon tastes as sumptuous as ever, and as you're savoring it you try not to get any grease on your developing masterpiece. After the final bite, you lick your fingers and the next line pops into your head: [[mingles with the voice]] [[feet planted]] [[not a single house]]

(set: $line2 to "not a single house") //$line1// //$line2// "Hey, you! You with the black fingers!" Mr. Yamada yells suddenly. "You haven't paid yet!" Quickly patting your pockets, you realize that in your daydreaming journey to the restaurant place, you completely forgot to bring your wallet. In a panic, you grab your napkin and make a run for it. While you dodge and weave through the crowd, the final line of your poem occurs to you: [[of the cuckoo.]] [[against a cool wall.]] [[without persimmon trees.]]

(set: $line3 to "without persimmon trees.") You're sprinting. The poem is in your head. You got it! Elated by your completed work your steps seem to take flight through the busy streets. Or is it the panic of being caught by Mr. Yamada? You spot an alleyway out of the corner of your left eye, and jump in. Crouching behind crates to remain hidden, you complete your poem. It is done! That mysterious feeling now crystalized and immortalized on what once was an unimportant napkin. You clutch it to your chest for a moment still panting from running out of the restaurant. Moments pass. With your breath recollected and the coast clear, you make your way through the busy market home. [[You leave the alleyway behind you.]]

(set: $line2 to "turns out") //$line1// //$line2// Almost done. But now your ink is nearly frozen solid and you can't help but feel your extremities going numb. Time is of the essence. You must compose the last line of your poem so that you may hurry back to civilization. You write: [[not to be my friend.]] [[the sound of wind.]] [[and sleeps awhile.]]

(set: $line3 to "not to be my friend.") It is over. Satisfied with your poem you descend the mountain. You hear a wolf howling in the distance. You wonder. "Would I have been their dinner had I stayed any longer?" [[You leave the mountain behind you]]

(set: $line1 to "Winter solitude--") Teeth chattering in the cold, you clench your quill between cramping fingers and scribble down your first line. //$line1// "Genius!" you can't help but think to yourself. But this first stroke of brilliance has cost you valuable time. The sun is setting and the temperature is dropping. If you stay up here much longer, you will freeze, so you conjure up that indiscernible feeling again and author your next line quickly: [[turns out]] [[in a world of one color]] [[sick, falls from the sky]]

(set: $line2 to "in a world of one color") //$line1// //$line2// Almost done. But now your ink is nearly frozen solid and you can't help but feel your extremities going numb. Time is of the essence. You must compose the last line of your poem so that you may hurry back to civilization. You write: [[not to be my friend.]] [[the sound of wind.]] [[and sleeps awhile.]]

(set: $line3 to "the sound of wind.") It is over. Satisfied with your poem you descend the mountain. You hear a wolf howling in the distance. You wonder. "Would I have been their dinner had I stayed any longer?" [[You leave the mountain behind you]]

(set: $line1 to "Cold night: the wild duck,") Teeth chattering in the cold, you clench your quill between cramping fingers and scribble down your first line. //$line1// "Genius!" you can't help but think to yourself. But this first stroke of brilliance has cost you valuable time. The sun is setting and the temperature is dropping. If you stay up here much longer, you will freeze, so you conjure up that indiscernible feeling again and author your next line quickly: [[turns out]] [[in a world of one color]] [[sick, falls from the sky]]

(set: $line2 to "sick, falls from the sky") //$line1// //$line2// Almost done. But now your ink is nearly frozen solid and you can't help but feel your extremities going numb. Time is of the essence. You must compose the last line of your poem so that you may hurry back to civilization. You write: [[not to be my friend.]] [[the sound of wind.]] [[and sleeps awhile.]]

(set: $line3 to "and sleeps awhile.") It is over. Satisfied with your poem you descend the mountain. You hear a wolf howling in the distance. You wonder. "Would I have been their dinner had I stayed any longer?" [[You leave the mountain behind you]]

Everyone knows that great poetry cannot be written on an empty stomach. You make your way through the busy Kyoto streets towards your favorite place to eat, restaurant Tamahide, to have a last dish of oyakodon. Your mouth waters just entertaining the thought. You place your order and patiently await. While time passes you grab a napkin and jot down your first line: [[The squid seller's call]] [[Taking a nap,]] [[This old village--]]