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No simple form conducts its lowing steer

Simple are sublime forms. I feel an affinity with those specific sensations.  Like Shinto, Zen of Japan, it all seemed to be secrets beyond comprehension. Those simple forms are continuously searching for its own origins. That is very attractive. I have been trying to think about the simple things. In my own theory so far, it is important if you take yourself to something great more accessible than you awaken results from the outside, without limiting the image. I still have been ongoing about 'how to be simple' that like Zen seeks enlightenment on a higher plane, they cannot stop. I reckon that the world can be seen as a subjective entity constantly being actively formed by individual perceptions. It could also be objective. Those begin with selves, but that's only manifested by connecting with something beyond itself. And, at that point, the simplification could strongly connect things and interpret one's perception, that's easier than to be provided by iffy compl

Piano Lesson

When I smell an incense stick, O-Senko, I remember a piano room and my piano lesson memory.
The piano room was laid with smooth lustrous carpet like velour of deep dark brown, and there was Buddhist household altar in that room.
Once a week, our teacher Reiko who graduated from Tokyo University of the Arts is known to be top music department in Japan, as my relative piano teacher so came up and taught to all cousin and sister of mine. She called us like Russian roulette one after another in turns, and taught piano in the room with a smell of Agarwood that is kind of a subdued ambience. When I entered the piano room, I started to lift a seat of the liftable chair at first and sat down next to teacher.
Just like a sound of her name - by a note I feel in Japanese -, she had a very clean appearance that was kind of amazing as scared at the same time but really thankful about that in awe. Her fingers touching keyboard were very white, very very slender and very very very long. It haunts my memory as little homage to girlhood. It was my classic discipline, classic stuff is a big discipline more or less, for that domestic tuneful education with such a mentor. It seems to me that might not be making the good about it at all. But when I am knocking counts of choreographies, that could be secretly reminding me not to lose the counts, dancing notes and the pitch with her high-pitched voice - maybe she majored in vocal music at the university-  and her beautiful fingers and her face which was looking at a musical score as seen from the side place where I sat in the seat of adjustable piano chair.
My piano lesson memory. Of course, theres loving everything. 

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