龍山寺

He clasped his hands together and shut his eyes as his consciousness began to coalesce with the gentle chant and swirling smoke that filled the temple.  In his mind's eye, he saw his music, his family, his Lieblingsmensch... and by the third bow, he felt the shadow loosening its dark clutches upon his heart.  Even if he was not devout, it was comforting that someone, anyone, would listen to his burdens.

"I brought you here today so that you can see for yourself that the City isn't as glamorous as some people would like you to believe.  It's good to interact with the upper class, but it's equally important to understand the less fortunate and the impoverished."  And it was true, how could he even begin to understand the chromatic nature of humanity if he never experienced both sides of the spectrum?  Thus, he began to see the logic behind the board games, the gambling... and the thievery.  He paused to wonder, was he the product of his surroundings and conditions?  Or were his fundamental beliefs pre-existent?  Perhaps that was the beauty and fallacy of humanity, that Truth would always be perceived and filtered through the senses, that everyone's perception of Truth was destined, doomed, to be different.  The impossibility of objectivity-

"Don't listen to him too much," they told him.  But who was actually speaking?  Was it the women?  Or was it the vestiges Confucian values that had braved the test of time?

Don't smoke.

He's not going to smoke, just look at him, do you really think he's the type to do that?

There's the Shin Kong Mitsukoshi!  Do you see it?

Of course he does, by now he's probably seen it a thousand times already!  Why not show him something new, something that would give him insight into his culture?

They might not like what the man says or how he speaks, but judging his actions alone, they speak louder than any of what the women had said to him.  More and more, it became apparent that the man was able to hear and listen without him having to say a single word.   He recalled an excerpt from a poem he had read long ago:

Durch alle Töne tönet
Im bunten Erdentraum
Ein leiser Ton gezogen
Für den, der heimlich lauschet.

And so he silently pushed his ear to hear the soft peals of Truth (were they really there?) underneath the cacophony of people in discord, people reconciling personal beliefs with ancient ideals, and people patiently waiting for the ultimate End.  But no matter how hard he tried, the sun would still set and retreat behind the rainy cityscape, hiding from the yelling that poisoned the hearts of the denizens of his beloved island.  That was how he lulled himself to sleep every night, completely and utterly alone.