I still convince myself that it is a good thing that the western land has its specialty into stretched trajectory and in tearing; and Japan into curves and complementarity that the sphere one caresses before entering, and the "Nothing"— in the sense that nothing we can formulate can ever truly express ultimate reality. It is late, now there is nothing beneath me than people sleeping and extinct lanterns squeaking. I sway back and forth in my room on a swing and describe to you what I see. I try to reconcile warmth and cold, the named and the nameless, yet I feel too little for such a task. Tonight, Japan intoxicates me. Just beneath me, I can sense its vast collective soul pulsing stealthily, and the questions it asks me multiply in front of the answers I find for them.