Living in a foreign country provides a particular feeling which, arbitrarily provoked, supersedes all others.

This feeling surges through my being like a river whose dam has shattered or a forest that’s gone aflame from an unexpected bolt of lightning; it’s the subtle, overwhelming awe which ignites the thought, holy shit. I live in Japan.

This thought often hits me late at night walking home through my neighborhood.

The day is done. I did what I could. It’s in this state of contemplation — my mind hazy, content and worn — when I let go, I breathe, and I accept what is.

A few nights ago I passed dimly lit lanterns, red, yellow and green and in the shape of fish, dangling from a wooden roof and flapping in the gentle breeze.

I passed a sakura tree stemming from the edge of a park, its white flowers glistening like pearls against the dark night sky. The half moon, tsuki, hung brightly in the distance, its luminosity my eternal guide.

The scene was stunning. I stopped when the lightning struck.

My heart’s put to ease by the world’s infinite mystery. The planet tells us to pause, drink in the air; it’s all good.

There’s art to create, a planet to see and love to share; yet in this moment of surrender, there’s only step after step down the road leading home where the world unfolds in calm.

Things will work out as they’re meant to — if we could only see that now. But we’re in it, and that’s what makes life worth living.

I wouldn’t want to get to the end without experiencing the journey there. It’s often hard, seldom simple, but you’re built for it, and if you get out there and try you just might see that the universe will inspire you along the way.

Despite what happens, the universe is smiling; so smile back.