鎮魂歌 仮面に光さす
ある人にお返しに鎮魂歌を届けたいが、届くかわからない。その人は私の父がなくなった時、鎮魂歌を書いてくれた。祈りとともに鎮魂歌を書いておく。
これから書くこと小説で。私小説といえなくはないし、創作であるともいえる。多くの仮面の表現でありつつも、本質である。真実であり事実ではない。
私の曽祖母も祖母も存在すること事体が一時期、許されなかった。また自分の本名で生きることを一時期、許されなかった。旧家を守ために。旧家で生まれ旧家で生きる中でよくあることなのだろう。その様を見ながら子孫たちは生きていく。仮面を引き継ぎながら。
ようやく存在を許され住み始めた宇治川のほとり。流れは綺麗でも、人の営みは綺麗ではない。読経と祈りの中にも名誉と財産欲が入り混じる。鳥は川のほとりから旅立つ。広がる田畑と人々の暮らしを見ながら。しかし、曾祖母も祖母も存在を認められない立場であったとしても、より弱い旧家の支下の小作の犠牲の上に生活していてことに思いは至れない。知るは鳥ばかりである
挙句のはて曾祖父の子供同士で争いが始まる
鳥は吉野の里に向かう。父鳥をおいかけて。吉野の山林も同じことで、山持は木こりを支配する。そこに修行する修験道の祈りは吉野の山林の人々の暮らしに届くことはない。鳥の羽ばたきのみか、彼らを包む。悲しさと苦しみは、まじりあうことがない
そして、戦後、小作にや山林の労働者の反撃が旧家に始まる。極楽浄土を模した世界は、地獄の豪火といえるし冥界に入口ともいえる。
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孫の世代に話しは移る
仮面は変容する、いや仮面は増えてゆく、
父は、大学でマルクス主義をもとに近世の日本や欧米の資本主義の形成過程旧体制の崩壊過程を学んだ、それは、彼の祖母や母の仮面の苦しみを追う過程と被るだろう、その後で彼は、金融資本発達の現場で働きその国際化の行き着く先を垣間見つつ失くなる、
曾孫の私は、その話を聞くこともなく父を失う。
見えない誰のかわからなくなった無数の仮面が宇治川の中に溢れ。海にながれつく、吉野の山々の中で無数の仮面が火に焼かれ煙が立ち上る、吉野の山々から天を望むように、その行き着く先は、浄土なのか、天国なのか、仏の世界から離れイエスに捕まった曾孫の私には、父の思いは推し量ることはできない
手元に引き継がれた多くの仮面が残る
仮面と本当の自分は、創造主の存在をみいだすのか、仏教のいう客観と主観的を乗り越え自我を手放す過程なのか、存在を批判的に哲学的に思考によりたどってゆくか過程なのか。思考が止まる。
祖母は、祖父と出会い出会い転々と旧家を離れ引っ越し続けてゆく。普段ほとんど家庭のことを父は、話さなかったが、その日々は幸そうに話していたことを思い出す
彼の母と父の転勤に伴い西国を転々と引っ越した学生時代日々は父の祖母の仮面をはずせた、つかの間の自由だったのか。だがその祖父も早くして失くなるまた仮面は戻ってきたのだろうか
飛ぶ鳥のみが知っている 仮面に光がさす日まで。夜に父から受け継いだ仮面を抱き締める、
私はそしてあなたはここにいる
聖書
生活保護法
通達は法律と憲法違反の時あり
予算と行政効率とのせめぎあい
自然科学論文
遺伝子 生命の構成要素
ブルムバーグ
アイスランド 社民党政権 アメリカ住宅販売好調
つなぎ予算成立
Requiem: Light Shining on Masks
I want to deliver a requiem to someone as a return gift, but I don’t know if it will reach them. When my father passed away, that person wrote a requiem for him. With a prayer, I will write this requiem.
What I am about to write is a novel. It could be called a personal novel, yet it is also a creation. It is expressed through many masks, yet it is also essential. It is truth, though not fact.
My great-grandmother and grandmother once lived in circumstances where their very existence was not permitted. For a time, they were not even allowed to live under their real names—to preserve the old family lineage. It might have been a common story among those born and raised in traditional houses. Observing such scenes, the descendants carry on, inheriting the masks.
Finally, they were allowed to exist and began to live by the banks of the Uji River. While the flow of the river was beautiful, human lives were not. Even in prayers and chanting, desires for honor and wealth mingled. Birds departed from the riverside, observing the farmlands and the lives of people. Yet even though my great-grandmother and grandmother were denied existence, they lived on the sacrifices of weaker tenant farmers tied to the old family. Only the birds knew this truth.
Eventually, conflicts arose among the children of my great-grandfather.
The birds then flew toward the village of Yoshino, chasing after their father. In Yoshino’s forests, the mountain lords ruled over the woodcutters. The prayers of ascetics practicing Shugendo never reached the people living in the mountains. Only the flapping of birds' wings enveloped them. Sadness and suffering remained separate, unable to intermingle.
After the war, tenant farmers and forest laborers launched their counterattacks against the old families. A world once modeled after the Pure Land could now be likened to the raging fires of hell or the entrance to the underworld.
To the Generation of Grandchildren
Masks transform—or rather, they multiply.
My father studied the formation of capitalism in Japan and the West, as well as the collapse of old regimes, using Marxist theories in university. Perhaps this mirrored the suffering caused by the masks worn by his grandmother and mother. Afterward, he worked in the world of financial capital, glimpsing its international reach before passing away.
As his great-grandchild, I lost him before I could hear his stories.
Countless masks, their origins unknown, overflow into the Uji River, drifting into the sea. In Yoshino’s mountains, numerous masks are burned in the fire, with smoke rising toward the heavens. From Yoshino’s mountains, one could gaze heavenward, wondering whether their destination is the Pure Land or heaven itself. As someone separated from the world of Buddha and caught by Jesus, I cannot fathom my father's thoughts.
Masks Passed Down
Many masks have been passed down to me.
Do these masks and my true self reveal the Creator's existence? Or is it a process described in Buddhism, where subjective and objective perspectives are transcended, and the ego is relinquished? Or is it a philosophical journey to critically trace existence through thought? My thoughts come to a halt.
My grandmother left the old family after meeting my grandfather, moving from place to place. My father seldom spoke of family matters, but he recalled those days with happiness.
During his student days, he moved westward across the country due to his parents' job transfers. Those days may have allowed him to momentarily remove his grandmother’s mask—a fleeting freedom. However, after losing his grandfather early, the mask might have returned.
Only the flying birds know the truth, until the day light shines on the masks. At night, I hold the masks inherited from my father. Are you the same?
But I am here, and so are you.
References
Bible
Jesus dancing in the womb
Constitution
Local autonomy and local assemblies
Livelihood Protection Act
There are times when notifications violate the law and Constitution.
The struggle between budgets and administrative efficiency
Natural Science Papers
Genes: The building blocks of life
Bloomberg
Iceland under a Social Democratic government
U.S. housing sales remain strong
Temporary budget resolution passed
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