Yukio Mishima, the Japanese writer, is on my mind this morning. Yukio wrote about "the morning face," the first face you show the world when you awake in the cold light of dawn. Yukio, was a vain man, (as a young child he was asthmatic, later he became a body-builder) he committed seppuka, ritual suicide, as a political act (he wanted the Japanese to return to their military glory in the days of the Emperor), in the 1970's, and as a preemptive strike against growing old (he died at 45). Yukio was considered one of Japan's greatest novelists. He was an outsider, a homosexual, a unique and daring man, who ultimately wanted to be accepted by society, he was the rebel who wanted to "fit in."
I was inspired by him, I was intruiged and repelled, by his journey, I read all of the novels, essays and plays written by him that I could get my hands on. I thought his work was extraordinary and disturbing, I was facinated by his obsession with the "cult of the sun," and dedication to martial arts. I also realized I was nothing like this man, my political views, my take on life, the military, society, discipline, etc. were so different. I did not "fit in," and early on, I decided that I did not want to "fit in." I realized that in order to be happy, I needed to emphasize and hone my "uniqueness."
Yukio Mishima showed me another way to live - through his writing, through his life. He helped me define what I "was not." I'm sure there was much "lost in translation." Not once did I detect a "sense of humour," in any of his actions or writings. I look in the mirror this morning and my morning face seems a little ragged and frayed, but there's a trace of a smile. I can see lines that weren't there before; a record of days, years, decades, looking back at me, and I think, "I wonder what's gonna happen next?" Yukio Mishima wanted to impose his vision on the world, I'm happy to see what the world will bring to me today.