Mujitsu and Tairaku's Shakuhachi BBQ

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Tube of delight!

#1 2006-08-03 11:52:08

Tairaku 太楽
Administrator/Performer
From: Tasmania
Registered: 2005-10-07
Posts: 3226
Website

The Pilot's Flute

I am married to Dr. Varuni Kulasekera, a research entomologist from Sri Lanka. We visited the island nation in October 1996 to attend the wedding of Varuni’s youngest sister. It was my first trip to Sri Lanka, and Varuni’s first since two major events in her life, divorce and doctorate. At the time of our visit we were still in the early stages of our romance, and not yet married. Varuni was intent on revisiting her home country and she was equally determined to show me its charms.

There was some controversy surrounding our visit. The idea of a Sri Lankan woman bringing a white man (particularly one with shoulder length blond hair and earrings) home was unheard of. It was not a “done thing” as the Sinhalese elite so demurely say. This, coupled with her recent divorce, also unprecedented in family annals, caused us a fair deal of stress, so we were happy to leave Columbo and get out into the countryside.

We hired a car and driver from one of the local hotels. It is not a good idea to drive around Sri Lanka by yourself, given the condition of the roads, and the Tamil/Sinhalese civil war. Roadblocks are common, and it is routine to find street signs removed or defaced. People don’t want outsiders (rebels) to be able to find their homes, so addresses no longer adorn many of the houses. You need someone who’s in the know. Car, driver, and gasoline cost 20,000 rupees ($400 U.S.) for ten days. We also had to give Saman, the driver, 150 rupees ($3) a day for food allowance. Lodging is provided for drivers, dormitory style, by the hotels.

We transversed the crowded, dusty city of Columbo via Galle Road. The street was clogged with all manner of human, animal and mechanical traffic. Cattle lounged on the median strip, occasionally meadering into the flow of traffic. Saman said that they spend the night on the boulevard, returning home at sunrise to be milked. Trishaws, the 3- wheeled taxis of the subcontinent whizzed by. The stores lining Galle Road sell such things as “Fency Clothes”, Ayurvedic remedies, or all things plastic. A street band was blaring oboes and banging drums.We passed stalls selling dozens of different kinds of dried fish, street vendors selling thambili (fresh young coconuts for drinking) hoppers (rice flour crepes with curry) and paan (betel nuts, tobacco and lime wrapped in betel leaves).  The men chewing paan ranged from workers wearing sarongs, to finely dressed professionals. They chew the paan as a diversion and for the mild buzz it gives. Paan chewers get their mouth, particularly teeth, stained red for their efforts, and the salivary glands are stimulated, resulting in plenty of red spots on the ground near the paan vendors.  Of course I made Saman stop the car so that I could try this local vice.

While I was chewing the paan we gathered a crowd. I am at least eight inches and sixty pounds heavier than the average Sri Lankan.  The lower echelons of Sri Lankan society, and some members of the upper class as well, have no inhibitions about staring at people who are different. My most frequently uttered phrase of Sinhala was, “Mokada Balanne!”, meaning,”What are you looking at?”  This, and my strategy of returning their open mouthed stares usually shooed the curiosity seekers away, with both parties’ humor intact. I was in this process when approached by a beggar. I was in the habit of ignoring them, simply because tossing a coin usually provoked a feeding frenzy, but this time I had to fork over, due to the pathetic visage of the unfortunate man before me. His legs and one arm had swollen to extreme proportions. After the beggar left, I asked Varuni, “What the hell was that?”

She said, “Filariasis. The filarial worm invades the body. If it’s not treated with Heterazan in the early stages the lymph gland is blocked by the worms and swelling occurs in the extremities. We are lucky he was wearing a sarong. You wouldn’t want to inspect his genitalia.”  Scientists love the word “genitalia”.

We got back in the car and continued into the downtown area of Columbo, passing such picturesque local landmarks as Kentucky Fried Chicken and the Hilton. City gave way to suburbs, and suburbs to countryside. I was struck by how unspoiled the children are in Sri Lanka. In the city one could see organised games of cricket with proper balls, bats, wickets, and uniforms. In the suburbs the kids play in the street or alley with beat up old bats, and scatter when a car comes. In the country we saw a group of  children in a vacant field, with a couple of branches in the ground for wickets, a stick for a bat and a rock for a ball. They showed no signs of the boredom and ennui of their American counterparts, who will threaten suicide if not given the latest in video game technology. I asked Saman to stop, so that we could watch this sweet cricket match. After a while the kids, who were fascinated with the car full of foreign and city folk, invited me to join the match. They fell on the ground laughing when they saw my absurd baseball-style swing. I tossed them a handful of rupees and we headed down the road again.

We were on the road to Kandy, the ancient capital of Sri Lanka in the days before the Europeans arrived, and home of the Temple of the Tooth, where Buddah’s tooth relic is stored, among other attractions. After about an hour of driving, Saman said, “We are coming to Kadjugama, village of beautiful girls with cashew nuts.”

My response was,”Huh?”

Varuni said, “Oh, you’ll find this very interesting. This is right up your alley.The young girls of this village sell cashews on the side of the road.”

I still didn’t understand. “Why?”

“To make money. It’s the trademark of Kadjugama, that’s why it’s called Kadjugama.”

I didn’t want to ask any more questions, preferring to observe for myself. After a few minutes Saman slowed the car and as promised delicious young girls bounded out of their stalls on the tree lined street beckoning towards us with bags both raw and roasted giant cashews. Varuni told Saman to stop at any stall, but I went over her head and told Saman to drive the entire length of the street, so that I could see all the girls, and then turn around and stop at the girl of my choice. I wanted value for my entertainment rupee. After I got an eyeful, I told Saman to return to the second stall on the left. Sinhalese women are among the most well appointed in the world according to my standards. If you have seen the famous Sigirya frescoes you will have noticed the thin waists and firm upturned breasts of the concubines. Their dark, healthy skin reminds one of the finest leather or polished wood. Their faces feign innocence, but the eyes tell you that they know exactly what they will do with you when the time is right. This girl was a jewel of Sinhalese femininity, with a tightly fitting top, exposed belly and sarong wrapped low around her hips. I looked at Varuni and imagined her dressed like this, instead of the designer clothes and ornate jewelry she favors, and thought she’d look good either way.

I bought three bags of cashews, one for each of us, and Saman got some coconuts to drink. Varuni wanted to drive on, but I suggested a break. Of course I was charmed by the village full of lovely girls. Why rush?

At the time of this story I was studying shakuhachi, the Japanese vertical bamboo flute, with my sensei James Nyoraku Schlefer in Brooklyn. I had also done workshops with various Japanese and American masters. The shakuhachi originated as the instrument of wandering Zen monks. It is dogma that one can achieve enlightenment for the entire world by playing one perfect note. Ichi on jobutso=one note-enlightenment. It is a spiritual practice, a form of musical meditation.  I hadn’t been playing for too long, but I sounded pretty good for a beginner. I decided to pull out my shakuhachi and play a tune, of course to create a sensation with the girls, and give them something to talk about. Also, I didn’t think we’d get to Kandy early enough for me to practice in the hotel, and you can’t practice in a moving vehicle, for fear of hurting your teeth. I played “Murasaki Reibo” composed some 600 years ago by crazy Zen monk/poet Ikkyu, who died on my birthday, November 21.

Shakuhachi music moves very slowly, so by the time I was about halfway through the piece a small crowd had gathered. Some of the men of the village had come to check out the music. I noticed one villager, wearing only a loincloth and with his rear end exposed, talking to Saman, pointing at me, making flute gestures, and gesturing towards the countryside. I finished the song and started to pack up the shakuhachi, when I was approached by Saman and the peasant. Saman said, “This man says his uncle play this flute. He wonders how Sudhu Mahattaya (“white master”) play this flute.”

I thought the man must be mistaken, because the Sri Lankans don’t have a vertically held flute, only sideblown ones, so I figured he was referring to the batanalava (Sri Lankan sideblown flute) or perhaps the oboes I had seen earlier. “Is he sure it’s the same flute?” I gestured as if I was playing a typical Sri Lankan flute.

Saman and the villager conferred and Saman said,”No, it is same as your flute. He says it is foreign flute his uncle play. He says he will take you to his uncle, if you like.”

I asked, “Is he trying to sell me something?”

Saman said,”I don’t think so.”

I’ve been a professional musician for over twenty years, and I have an obsession with musical instruments. Even more than music itself I cannot resist the lure of new instruments, new techniques. I decided to see what the man was talking about.

The villager hopped into the front seat of the car alongside Saman. Varuni and I sat in back and the man guided Saman along a series of dirt roads, each smaller and in poorer condition than the previous one. I started to worry a bit. Eventually we came to a clearing with several houses made from mud and bricks, with thatched roofs. Children and scrawny dogs encircled us when we got out of the car. Chickens were running around the yards.  The man who brought us yelled something at one of the kids, who promptly scurried off in the direction of one of the more distant dwellings.

A few minutes later the boy returned with an elderly man in a sarong,short sleeve button down shirt and sandals, who to my amazement was carrying a shakuhachi. There could be no mistake about it. It was fashioned from the root end of the bamboo. The shakuhachi is unique in this regard. There were four holes in front, one in back, and the typical utaguchi, or mouthpiece, of the shakuhachi was also present. Sure,it was made of cheap bamboo, probably local, not madake bamboo like a fine Japanese instrument, but it was definitely a shakuhachi. While I inspected the instrument two other old men appeared with similar instruments. I asked,”Have they been to Japan?”

Varuni asked them and they shook their heads up and down, which in Sri Lanka means no.“ Could they play something for me?”  Varuni asked them to play. I showed them my dAT recorder and microphone, and asked if I was permitted to record. They didn’t object, nor did they seem to have the vaguest idea what the equipment was. They formed a circle, or more accurately a triangle and began to blow. I was expecting Sri Lankan folk melodies, but the music seemed formless to me. Their tone and pitch was rank, but they had the soul found among rural musicians everywhere. Gradually I heard some structure, then some familiar phrases and finally it dawned on me. They were doing a crude, garbled version of “Choshi” a piece I had studied, and the cornerstone of the classical Honkyoku repertoire. They actually played about three quarters of the piece, then ended prematurely. That didn’t seem to bother them, though. Honkyoku (original pieces) are the meditation pieces played monks and other shakuhachi enthusiasts like myself. “Choshi” is played at the beginning of each performance by all players assembled at Meianji Temple in Kyoto, the home temple of shakuhachi players.

When they finished, I asked for another tune, but they told Varuni that was the only one they knew. I amused them by putting the headphones on them and allowing them to hear themselves play. They were visibly amazed by this procedure. The kids listened to the elders on the dAT and a general merriment ensued. I had serious questions on my mind, though. How did three farmers in Middle of Nowhere, Sri Lanka procure shakuhachi and learn, albeit poorly, a piece of Japanese monastic music? After everyone lost interest in the tape machine I had Saman and Varuni pose these questions to the old man. I turned the tape recorder back on in case Varuni could not do a simultaneous translation. She could listen and translate in detail later if she missed anything the first time. The following is a translation of the man’s words.

“Many years ago we had the war. Not the same one as now, but the one with British and Japanese. Those days British were here. We were soldiers. I was corporal and these (indicating the other two players) were privates. One day a plane came and landed in the lake. British put plants in the lake to fool the enemy.”

At this point Varuni interjected,“These plants are called pistia, introduced by the Brits to camouflage the water bodies around here. They planted it because it’s a weed. It spread all over the ponds and tanks. The Japanese would think they found a clearing, but instead would crash into a lake. An unintended side effect of this plant was to provide a breeding ground for the mosquito vector which carries filarial worms. Remember that guy we saw with the inflamed legs? Before the Brits planted pistia filariasis was strictly an urban problem. With the change in habitat filaria was introduced to these rural areas.”

The old man resumed his account: “ Ranbanda and Siripala ran to the lake and saw the plane with it’s nose in the water. The Japanese climbed out and sat on the fuselage. Ranbanda guarded the prisoner from a distance while Siripala came and got me. As the ranking soldier I had to decide what to do with the Japanese prisoner. The three of us pointed our rifles at him and told him to come with hands up. We saw him reach into his jacket. We thought he was getting a gun. We shot, but only Ranbanda hit him, in the leg. We could see the blood on his pants leg, but he showed no pain. When he reached into his jacket he was not getting a gun. He had a flute instead. He started playing the flute. At this time I forgot I was a soldier. I lost track of time, listening to the music. The other two began to panic. They wanted to shoot. I went against my training. I told them not to shoot. I thought what merit is there in killing this man? He is perhaps a follower of the Buddha like us, and unlike the British. The truth is I wanted to hear more of the music. We listened, with our guns trained on the Japanese. The blood was coming out more and more. Finally the Japanese fainted and fell into the water and the plants.”

The old man had started walking towards the lake. I could see the rusty wreck of a Jap Zero. I recognized the insignia from a model I had built in the third grade.

“We rushed into the lake and grabbed the unconcious Japanese and the flute.  I knew I would get in trouble with the British, but I decided to hold him prisoner , but to keep it as the secret of we three.  We bandaged the Japanese’s leg, and made a mud prison for him. We waited for him to wake up and gave him some tea and fruit. He was smiling too much for a prisoner.”

“We took turns guarding him and never left him alone, because we had no good way to confine him.  When his leg felt better I brought him some stalks of bamboo, a machete, a hand drill and a file. That is when he made our flutes. “ He gestured at the three shakuhachi. 

“He showed us how to make the sound. When our sound was good he taught us that song, one breath per day.”  Honkyoku are organised by phrases. Each phrase lasts as long as one breath.

“After two weeks of guarding him and playing flute, something happened. It was my turn to guard him. But I fell asleep. Today I think I was really awake, but Buddha made me think I was asleep. I don’t know. If the British found him what would they do? When I woke up he was gone.”

I thought, that explains why their version of “Choshi” ends prematurely. The pilot was not incarcerated long enough to teach them the whole song.

The old man started again,” He left his flute.”

This intrigued me. I requested to see it. They sent the same little boy to run and get the Pilot’s shakuhachi. The old man said,”We have kept it here. We waited for him to come back. He never did.  None of us have played it. We play the ones he made for us.”

I asked if I could try it. The three old men glanced at each other and the man who had been talking offered the shakuhachi to me, holding it in both palms. I could tell it was a magnificent instrument, heavy, thick and dark, with a massive root end.  I blew the lowest note. Deep. Slowly I started to play one of the pieces I have memorized, “Mukaiji.” This was the finest shakuhachi, or instrument of any kind I had ever played. The music cried.  The old men listened without expression. When I finished they spoke quietly amongst themselves.

Saman said,”They are saying you sound like him.”

I started to hand the shakuhachi back to the old man. He didn’t take it, but uttered a few words in Sinhala.

Varuni said, “He wants you to have it.”

I put my hands together and bowed to the three old ones. We had to leave, because we wanted to get to Kandy before it was too late. I opened the trunk of the car and pulled out a bag of rice Saman had picked up for his family. I told him I’d replace it the next day. I also grabbed a 1.75 liter bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label I had picked up in the duty-free in Dubai on the way to Sri Lanka. I handed these items to the old men, who accepted them with gracious smiles. We drove off, waving.

When I got to Kandy I faxed my friend John Singer, who deals in rare old shakuhachi, a drawing of the hanko (maker’s stamp). He sent back a fax saying,”This is the hanko of Yamaguchi Shiro. He was the finest pre-war shakuhachi maker and also a great player. His instruments are the Stradivarius of shakuhachi.”

When I got back to New York I took a class with Japanese shakuhachi master Yoshio Kurahashi. I played him the tape of the old Sri Lankan men. He remarked, “This is very strange “Choshi”.”


'Progress means simplifying, not complicating' : Bruno Munari

http://www.myspace.com/tairakubrianritchie

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#2 2006-08-03 13:07:45

caffeind
Member
From: Tokyo
Registered: 2006-04-13
Posts: 148

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Amazing. What more can be said!

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#3 2006-08-03 14:10:51

evan kubota
Member
Registered: 2006-04-10
Posts: 136

Re: The Pilot's Flute

“After two weeks of guarding him and playing flute, something happened. It was my turn to guard him. But I fell asleep. Today I think I was really awake, but Buddha made me think I was asleep. I don’t know. If the British found him what would they do? When I woke up he was gone.”

Yamaguchi Shiro you say? Shot in the leg in Sri Lanka? This pilot was my grandfather and he wants his shakuhachi back.

Just kidding wink

Amazing story. Have you read 'Running in the Family' by Michael Ondaatje?

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#4 2006-08-03 17:52:50

geni
Performer & Teacher
From: Boston MA
Registered: 2005-12-21
Posts: 830
Website

Re: The Pilot's Flute

That`s so Cool,
You can make a movie with this story.

That`s just beautifull. Can you post a picture of the shakuhachi


Geni

Last edited by geni (2006-08-03 17:54:20)

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#5 2006-08-03 19:45:34

jumbuk
Member
From: South-eastern Australia
Registered: 2005-12-15
Posts: 85

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Is this an excerpt from your upcoming autobiography?  If it is, I can't wait to read the rest!


... as if nothing is happening.  And it is!

Paul Mitchell, Jumbuktu 2006

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#6 2006-08-03 21:36:07

bluespiderweb
Member
From: Southeastern PA USA
Registered: 2005-10-31
Posts: 66

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Neat story, Brian!

Thanks very much for sharing that with us, it made my day!

PS  Got an urge for some Cashews too!

Last edited by bluespiderweb (2006-08-03 21:37:51)


Be well,  Barry

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#7 2006-08-03 21:50:14

Daniel Ryudo
Shihan/Kinko Ryu
From: Kochi, Japan
Registered: 2006-02-12
Posts: 355

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Ah, betel nuts...I have fond memories of chewing them and spitting them out of my taxi cab window in Taiwan years ago while being driven around by a manic driver who could have almost been a stand in for John Belushi on Saturday Night Live in terms of his appearance and vocal mannerisms.  Thanks for that story.  What a mindblower...it's too bad that the Japanese flute player didn't stay longer; maybe he could have influenced the entire village and started a whole new tradition in the Sri Lankan countryside.   Most people would be hard pressed to even make up a story that amazing.   I wonder if there is any way to find out who the Japanese pilot was and if he ever made it back to Japan.   Was there any list of Yamaguchi Shiro's students?  Did anyone ever try to find out? By all means, a new category, as Sigwada suggests...this is more than mere miscellany and may even be material for a major miniseries.  Just think, if you had never stopped off in the village of Kadjugama to see those beautiful cashew nut girls...

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#8 2006-08-04 04:06:54

Karmajampa
Member
From: Aotearoa (NZ)
Registered: 2006-02-12
Posts: 574
Website

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Great story Brian, thanks for that. I love the image of this pilot, lost in that remote and isolated part of the universe, successfully crashed his plane after running out of fuel, crawls out of the wreckage and the first thing he wants to do is play his Shakuhachi !
A man after my own heart.
But what is more, with the sound of the Shakuhachi, the captured pilot captured his warder.

Kel      §


Kia Kaha !

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#9 2006-08-05 14:23:07

Karmajampa
Member
From: Aotearoa (NZ)
Registered: 2006-02-12
Posts: 574
Website

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Perhaps you are an incarnation of this pilot, returning to recover your flute.

Kel.


Kia Kaha !

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#10 2006-08-24 06:50:16

shashank
Member
From: Japan
Registered: 2006-07-17
Posts: 14

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Dear all,
After reading this interesting fact about the Shakuhachi in Sri Lanka...I am wondering about the whole story now...

I am planning to get into detail about the Shakuhachi during World War 2 in my free time....I think it will be a interesting topic to research if this has not been studied yet...

I am interested in knowing about following things;

1. What was the status of Japanese traditional music in terms of Shakuhachi in Japan before and during world war?
(after reading the book "Memoirs of a Geisha", it is clear that it was active, but how about Shakuhachi?)

2. Officially how many shakuhachi players were present at that time?

After talking to some people, I came to know that most of the Japanese soilders who took part in the War used to carry a Harmonica since it is small and goes into a pocket.....but how many did really had shakuhachi?

I believe if there was Shakuhachi Association during those times then it is possible to find out.....

3.  If shakuhachi can go as far as SriLanka even by chance, how about it being present in other countries which had Japanese presence during the war?

Has anyone carried out such studies?

Any information about this is welcome....

Shashank

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#11 2007-03-21 00:12:27

Yungflutes
Flutemaker/Performer
From: New York City
Registered: 2005-10-08
Posts: 1061
Website

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Hi All,

Below is a promo blurb for WINGS of DEFEAT, a documentary film about surviving Kamikaze pilots. I played shakuhachi on some of the sound track.
The film will blow away any misconceptions and stereotypes you may have of the Kamikaze. I didn't expect to be hit with such intense conflicting emotions. It gave me a glimpse into what it must be like for the present day suicide bombers in the Middle East. As unpatriotic as it sounds, I felt compassion. If you are in Toronto around the time of the HOT DOCS Festival, you must see WINGS of DEFEAT. It's 90% in Japanese but you wouldn't know it.

Ichion Jobutsu, Perry



We are very excited to announce that our feature documentary film,
WINGS OF DEFEAT
will world premiere at The HOT DOCS Documentary Film Festival

in Toronto on April 24th and 26th!!  Check it out at www.hotdocs.ca!

www.wingsofdefeat.com – coming soon!!

心から本当にありがとうございます!
    peace and light, Risa and Linda



WINGS OF DEFEAT
Internationally, Kamikaze pilots remain a potent metaphor for fanaticism. In Japan, they are largely revered for their selfless sacrifice. Yet few outside Japan know that hundreds of kamikaze pilots survived the war.  Through rare interviews with surviving kamikaze pilots, a complex history of brutal training and ambivalent sacrifice is revealed. As U.S. firebombs incinerated its major cities and the country ran out of weapons and fuel, Japan’s military government refused to accept the reality that it could no longer fight. Instead they sent thousands of pilots off to targets nearly impossible to reach. Sixty years later, survivors in their eighties tell us about their training, their mindsets, their experiences in a kamikaze cockpit and what it meant to survive when thousands of their fellow pilots had died. Their stories insist we set aside our preconceptions to relive their all too human experiences with them. Ultimately, they help us question what responsibilities a government at war has to its soldiers and to its people.


"A hot dog is not an animal." - Jet Yung

My Blog/Website on the art of shakuhachi...and parenting.
How to make an Urban Shakuhachi (PVC)

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#12 2007-03-22 02:47:15

Bogert
Member
From: Amagasaki-shi, Hyogo-ken
Registered: 2005-12-05
Posts: 203

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Hey Brian, do you have that recording still?  I would love to hear that.  It is amazing the things you find while wandering around isn't it. 

I'll also have to check out that movie.

Chris


理趣経百字の偈
菩薩勝慧者 乃至尽生死 恒作衆生利 而不趣涅槃 般若及方便 智度悉加持 諸法及諸有    一切皆清浄 欲等調世間 令得浄除故 
有頂及悪趣 調伏尽諸有 如蓮体本染 不為垢所染    諸欲性亦然 不染利群生 大欲得清浄 大安楽富饒 三界得自在 能作堅固利

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#13 2007-03-31 20:31:31

janemukei
Member
From: New York
Registered: 2006-06-08
Posts: 23

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Brian, Just read your story  of The Pilot's Flute and was amazed at your experience. Unbelievable chance (?) meeting...This is the true meaning of travel or pilgrimage to other places. Definitely a result of your accumulated karma. And it turned out to be a Yamaguchi Shiro??? Someday I'd love to see that instrument. Your writing had me on the edge of my zafu!   Jane

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#14 2007-04-07 17:04:14

Yungflutes
Flutemaker/Performer
From: New York City
Registered: 2005-10-08
Posts: 1061
Website

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Hi All, for those interested, the trailer for the documentary is up:
Wings of Defeat trailer
The film festival opens next week!

Namaste, Perry


"A hot dog is not an animal." - Jet Yung

My Blog/Website on the art of shakuhachi...and parenting.
How to make an Urban Shakuhachi (PVC)

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#15 2007-04-08 01:44:24

shaman141
Member
From: Montreal, QC.
Registered: 2006-02-02
Posts: 154
Website

Re: The Pilot's Flute

What a beautiful trailer, I can't wait to see it.

Thanks Perry,

Sean


Find your voice and express yourself, that's the point.

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#16 2009-03-21 22:42:27

ABRAXAS
Member
Registered: 2009-01-17
Posts: 353

Re: The Pilot's Flute

This is officially the best thing I've ever read posted on the internet!


"Shakuhachi music stirs up both gods and demons." -- Ikkyu.

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#17 2009-03-23 11:52:13

purehappiness
Member
From: Connecticut USA
Registered: 2009-01-13
Posts: 528

Re: The Pilot's Flute

What a great and moving story. I hope you taught the men the end of choshi.


I was not conscious whether I was riding on the wind or the wind was riding on me.

Lieh-tzu

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#18 2009-03-23 14:45:38

Vevolis
Member
From: Toronto, ON
Registered: 2007-12-24
Posts: 175
Website

Re: The Pilot's Flute

Very interesting story. Also, thank you for introducing me to a new parasite to be deathly afraid of. smile

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