72 seasons

Japan adapted a calendar from China in the late 17^th century that segments the year into 72 microseasons. I know this because of a Headspace video that highlights this history. The concept is interesting to me as the season here in western Massachusetts has started to turn and time becomes more contracted with the passing years. So many thoughts arise.

I turned 48 last week. Death is closer than it was last year. The Stoics remind us to keep our death, our limited time on this earth, at the forefront of our minds. It is not something to fear. My available time to do things (have experiences, fall in love again, learn to play the drums, walk with Trixie) is less than what it was. How to expand this limited life left in me?

Time feels longer when there are many new, varied experiences. When we look back on our lives, the sameness of our days coalesce into a time blob, this sort of block of monotony. When recollecting my own past, the years after my divorce, living in a one-room cabin a stone’s throw from Walden Pond, they are just one mass of time. Those years feel like one season of my life. And yet, here in western Massachusetts, I’ve spent less time living in the Hilltowns and this time feels expansive and long and lovely. I have packed these years with new experiences, new friends, new ways of viewing the world.

Given that, perhaps aligning our year with Japan’s 72 microseasons creates a more expansive feeling of time. Maybe recognizing the small, almost imperceptible changes to our environment allows us to be more present in each moment. When I think of the four seasons I have only known, they are almost too long to do anything with. How does one encapsulate the fall season—the heat of late September, the changing leaves, birds migrating south, first snowfalls in the Berkshires falling silently on evergreens—into just one season? Japan’s five day microseasons seems a way to recognize and celebrate the great openness of time and nature.

Yesterday, Japan’s Grains ripen in the fields microseason began. Next season is Dew appears white on the grasses, from September 8 to the 12^th. What are the seasons for me here in the Hilltowns? How would I segment the Berkshires into five day chunks over the course of the year? It would take deeper observation, relying on my own senses instead of the weather report, to find the proper name for each microseason. And when would my year start? For Japan, the autumnal season begins on August 7^th with Cool winds arrive, signaling the start of autumn. Could today be the start of my microseason year? Given the weather patterns of these past few days, Warm rains bring mist may be an apt name.

Looking at familiar things in a new light is an enjoyable experience for me. I like change, crave it. Monotony is truly a death knell. I know many people do not like change; they require the certainty of consistency. A better way to put this, and more accurate, is that I crave change and new experiences as long as I have a baseline of consistency (e.g., morning meditation rituals, a paycheck every other week, friends and family that love me). Would this be controlled change? Expected change? I don’t know.

I’ve always questioned how I view the world. I’m trapped inside this dark, silent brain of mine. When you really think about your brain, it is trapped inside a dark, silent skull with these electrical pulses bouncing around, trying to interpret the outside world through limited inputs. It is natural to question my interpretation of the world (why some people are so dogged in their belief that their view is the right view is obscene). 72 microseasons is in the same bucket of why I keep my degrees in Celsius, why my car is set to kilometers—it is a way to remove the familiar, get me comfortable with discomfort and not relying on how things have always been done. 72 microseasons is another way to wake up to my present moments, each and every time.