A Tokyo Religion

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I should have expected the good news.

Last night, biking my things to my new apartment, I saw the dusky orange outline of our lord Fuji-san, may the sun forever shine on her glory. She beams her power across the land, shooting up the smoke of clouds and drawing pilgrims up to her crater top. Her majesty has been photographed, painted, and drawn from every angle, real or imagined. Her image finds an altar on many foreign fridges and in the numerous, now shut Narita souvenir shops.

Accidental sightings of Fuji are a good omen. This time she brought news of an article publication and a sailing date. I pay forward my gratitude into the silent goddess behind a reversed swastika symbol. All this, in the humdrum suburban streets, I go on practicing my Tokyo religion.


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