Cherry Blossom Blessings

If you break open the cherry tree

Where are the blossoms?

But in springtime they bloom!

                             ~ Ikkyu, 1394-1487

Every one of us stores away indelible images from significant events in our lives. For some people, those memories are sounds – a song or particular piece of music. For others, it may be the awe of touching a soft newborn’s head or the smell of lilacs in the spring. For many, visual cues bring back a flood of memories that when you close your eyes, you are right there - as if no time has past.

For me, cherry blossoms are engraved in my mind. Pink clouds of beauty surrounding once bare trees, their petals drifting downward as lazy as the first soft snows of winter. Even though it has been decades since I lived in Washington DC, cherry blossoms bring back a cascade of memories from the city that so transformed my life. In my mind’s eye, I see places on the mall such as the Lincoln, Jefferson, and Washington Memorials, the National Gallery of Art, and the Capital, which evoke further memories of this fascinating city.

When we brought our first-born home from the hospital, the famed cherry blossoms around the Tidal basin were in full bloom. They are reminders of my giving birth for the first time. Within a day’s time, I had become a parent. But more so, these flowering trees of beauty are symbolic in many ways of who I have become as a person.

Washington’s cherry trees are an expression of friendship between Japan and the United States. For a century, these beautiful clouds of spring have called us to the enduring need for peace in a troubled world. That living together in our diversity of cultures requires more than international borders, resolution of immigration issues, and peace treaties. It is friendship that the world needs most.

The first cherry trees arrived here from Japan in 1912, before either country would be drawn into war with each other. The trees endured the terrible years, when dropping bombs from the air became defining factors determining who we are as a people for the first time. When we dropped those first atomic bombs, we altered the face of Japanese culture. Just as our culture was permanently changed, when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. And Nagasaki and Hiroshima became forever burned into the history of the world.

It took a long time for our two countries to restore their friendship with each other. A decade after the war ended, little boys in my country were still drawing pictures in Sunday School with the words “bomb the Japs” written across planes raining terror downward. While the Japanese had used the symbolism of the cherry blossoms to stoke nationalistic fervor during the war – even painting cherry blossoms on planes before bombing missions to symbolize the intransient nature of life.

For the Japanese, cherry trees have meanings embedded deep in the Japanese psyche. Meanings going beyond the symbol of friendship that Washington’s trees represent. Images of cherry blossoms are woven through throughout Japan’s poetry, especially its haiku and waka forms, as well as its art and music. After Buddhism was brought to Japan from China in the 700’s, images of cherry and plum blossoms reflect its subtle themes. No one word describes their meanings. Ephemeral. Impermanence. Beauty. The reality of our mortality. And more.

The custom of hanami (flower-viewing) in the spring and picnicking under the blooming trees began long ago in the 700’s - or perhaps even earlier in the third century with celebration of cherry blossom festivals. Today when the cherry trees bloom, Japanese people flock to temples, shrines, and gather with friends and family for flower-viewing parties.  One Japanese woman, tongue in cheek, described it as a time for men to gather together under the trees and drink too much sake.

Japan is a long archipelago of islands. Cherry trees begin to bloom in southern Okinawa in January, reaching Kyoto and Tokyo by the end of March or the beginning of April. Hokkaidō, the northern-most major island, begins to see its cherry trees bloom a few weeks later. The dates are not exact and are dependent upon weather, so the Japanese meticulously track their progress with cherry blossom reports after the nightly weather forecast.

When I went to Japan a year ago – one century after the first cherry trees were planted in Washington DC – I did not expect to see cherry blossoms. The timing of my trip wasat least  two weeks too late, after tender young leaves would have replaced the pale pink blossoms. But much to my surprise and delight, it had been an unusually cold and lingering winter for Japan. This very late spring meant the trees bloomed while I was there!

Osaka-Kobe is an industrial city and a large seaport. The air was grey with smog – yet cherry trees had exploded in full bloom along the Okawa River. I drifted down the river by boat with Japanese families full of excitement. Walkers were everywhere along the river. People sat talking among the trees as if they had not a care in the world. It was hanami at its height. Forgotten were the realities of heavy industry and sea-faring ships. Forgotten were economic concerns of the world. Flower-viewing meant being present in all this beauty. One of those time-standing-still moments of my life.

Later I traveled southward to Nagasaki where time had stood still in the horrific moments when we unleashed nuclear bombs on Japan – a postscript to a war that already had ended. At Nagasaki’s Peace Park I wander among monuments from various countries and pondered their meanings. At one end of the park, multi-colored origami peace cranes hung in chains, thousands of cranes. For centuries, cranes have been considered sacred symbols of good luck, long life and love. Folding paper cranes has become one more way to surmount the losses suffered during this war of the world.

A massive statue dominates the other end of the Peace Park. The figure points one arm skyward, signifying where nuclear devastation streamed down. Its other arm extends horizontally as a promise and hope for peace. I ask myself if I could have found such hope if it had been my country, my city that was so utterly destroyed.

Despite what the park signifies, it is a serene place. It provided space for me to reflect on my questions about why humans struggle for world dominance, using increasingly sophisticated weapons of war. This Peace Park was another world away from happy families celebrating the legendary cherry blossoms. And the friendship offered by Japan in such another time. The gift of cherry trees that ring the Tidal Basin in Washington.

As I stood there, I looked up. A solitary crane flew overhead. Since cranes mate for life and are never far from each other, I wondered if it was a young crane not yet mated – or an older crane grieving the loss of its mate. Paired with my fresh memories of clouds of cherry blossoms, the crane was a fitting blessing of my experience in Japan.