Stillness of spirit amidst chaos. That is the way I remember that afternoon, arriving to Harajuku station on my way to Meiji-Shingu shrine in Tokyo. I was alway informed of a co-existence of old and new in the Land of the Rising Sun, but I did not understand it until I arrived.
Tokyo itself is like a flower in eternal bloom, with petals of modernity and tradition unfolding before your eyes with every waking step. I recall passing by a holy man on my way to the shrine- a man with eyes closed, pursed lips, arms extending outwards in search of sacredness, oblivious to the exterior tumultuous chaos and everyday flux of the station that afternoon. He was sitting in the middle of the bridge that connects Harajuku and Meiji shrine- a couple of feet above the whirlwind of Yamanote Japanese rail tracks. It was sacredness amidst chaos, tradition unscathed by modernity.
Everything around him was transitory, in chaotic flux, and he was the only one that had the secret passage to eternity that afternoon. He was all beginnings, all ends, all in betweens.