When wet, the black mud—“hedoro” in japanese—left by the sea after the March 11th tsunami, smells like putrid sea water, sewer, dead fish and a hint of dead body. And that’s actually what it is made of.
Our team of four volonteers once had to crawl in the watery mud under the floors. In reality, our team leader Angela, went crawling alone. I myself was not far from throwing up, and hedoro mixed with vomit is the last thing you want to see. Going back to camp covered from head to toe with a thick layer of hedoro, our Angela would make the children cry. Their parents, who have now seen much worth, would stop their car to take a photo of the monster: “oh! Look! A monster!”. Some believe it to be a mutant resulting from the tsunami, the radiations and perhaps those giant mushrooms that starts to invade the city. A muddy version of Bardot on her Harley Davidson, she would then roam the streets on her bike from hell, so loud the neighbors would fear another earthquake and the children, still crying from the monster’s apparition, would start running toward the hills, anticipating the next deadly tsunami.

When not shoveling hedoro, the Peace Boat volunteers rest, eat or drink in Kaska Fashion, a disaffected clothing factory repurposed as their base camp for the clearing operations.
Seating on the blue tarpaulin, we are going through the usual introductory discussion. When my turn comes, I explain I have been working in an office for a while, and that I am now taking some time off to see the world. I also mention I am now having lots of nice, but brief encounters; which contrast with going every day to the office. I would not see those acquaintance ever again. “We are in motion to the ocean”, as the guy in the boat car says in “Waking Life”:

I feel like my transport should be an extension of my personality. And this is like my little window to the world… and every minute’s a different show. I may not understand it. I may not even necessarily agree with it. But I’ll tell you what I’ve accepted: just sort of glide along. You want to keep things on an even key, this is what I’m saying. You want to go with the flow. The sea refuses no river. The idea is to remain in a state of constant departure while always arriving. It saves on introductions and goodbyes.

So I am reflecting on the strangeness—or at least, newness to me—of this constant flow, when someone interrupts:

“Ichi go Ichi e!”

Seeing my expression of incomprehension, he carries on explaining:
“Ichi go Ichi e” could be a concept similar to “Carpe Diem”. But not quite. It is having one opportunity. “Ichi go Ichi e” comes from the Japanese Way of Tea, a reminder that each ceremony, while similar to any other tea ceremony, is unique. Similarly each encounter is unique. Yoda Sensei, famously once said:” Do or do not. There is no try”, leading us to the conclusion that Yoda Sensei has probably been, amongst other things, a master of Tea ceremony.
“a state of constant departure while always arriving”,
There is no try, there is only actual doing.
Every instant is unique.

But where “Carpe Diem” is an Epicurean notion of enjoying the present, because the future cannot be trusted, “Ichi go Ichi e” emphasize is that the now, is the only opportunity you have to do things well: “This might very well be the last time we’ll meet, so let’s make it a valuable moment”. “Carpe Diem” might be more passive and enticing to self-indulgence, whereas “Ichi go Ichi e” might be more about doing your best today. Like an actor in an audition, only one chance. And as Shakespeare puts it:

All the world’s a stage
And all the men and women merely players

No spectators, we are all actors and there is no rehearsal. “Ichi go Ichi e”.

Learning about “Ichi go Ichi e” in Ishinomaki, shoveling mud where the Tsunami abruptly ended the lives of thousands of people, gives it a peculiar meaning for me. For all the once in a lifetime encounters I had there, for all the dead I will never meet, and for shoveling putrid mud being a significant moment.

A young Japanese aspiring firefighter, tells me: “As I see all those destructions, I have to also think about the thousands of people that die everyday in the world”. Only eighteen, and so wise as we are walking through the destroyed city. Perhaps this is a manifestation of the Japanese spirit: Seeing life as transient, but according importance to every moment; being aware of the impermanence of things, while at the same time doing your best. This spirit might not be far from the Myth of Sisyphus as seen by Camus:”La lutte elle-même vers les sommets suffit à remplir un cœur d’homme; il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux.” (The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.)

There is no giant mushroom in Ishinomaki.