Tag: Bell Gardia

A woman visited the “Wind Phone” every day for six consecutive days starting in early September. She is currently studying at a Japanese university from Germany and shared that her mother had passed away from cancer.

Each time she came to the “Wind Phone,” she cried. She shed many tears…

People often visit the “Wind Phone” when their hearts are heavy with loss or grief, unable to process their feelings. While some initially find it difficult to express emotions that are hard to put into words, they often feel their hearts grow lighter with each visit, allowing them to heal at their own pace.

Speaking into the receiver helps organize and lessen inner emotions, bringing a sense of relief and liberation from having conveyed what they couldn’t say before.

Users can ease their loneliness and heartache by safely talking about the sadness and regret they had been carrying alone in the space provided by Kaze no Denwa for dialogue with the deceased.

Through the Kaze no Denwa experience, “conveying feelings that could not be communicated to the other person” provides closure and a sense of relief, encouraging a process of regaining a positive outlook and hope for life.

This psychological change has attracted professional attention as a form of grief care, and many users say that the Wind Phone reduces their psychological burden and provides an opportunity to form new emotional connections.

In this way, the Wind Phone is a place where visitors can visualize the invisible connections in their hearts, and it has become an important place that promotes the process of healing and regeneration of the heart.

When the media reports on the “Wind Phone,” they often focus on the moving scenes of people clutching the disconnected black telephone, tearfully pouring out their unsaid feelings to a loved one they could no longer meet, unable to convey their thoughts. However, at the actual sites of the “Wind Phones,” the scenes are different. People who have lost family or friends to sudden disasters, accidents, or suicide—those who make it to the phone booth but cannot bring themselves to open the door, those who open it but cannot lift the receiver, those who speak for long periods about feelings they couldn’t express, those who hold the receiver without speaking, just shedding tears—the sight of people quietly facing those they long to see but cannot reach never ceases.

The “Wind Phone” should be seen as a place where people confront their painful pasts and present while looking forward, striving to overcome them and walk toward the future. We fear that if it is viewed merely as an outlet for grief or as a media stunt for attention, its true essence will be missed.

Though they cannot actually speak on the phone, those who have finished their time there say: say things like, “It felt like it was reaching the other side,” or “I could sense someone there.” If it truly feels like they were able to speak, if it eases their heart, heals them, and makes them feel saved, then for that person, isn’t it the same as having truly spoken?

I believe that our act of humbly accepting something beyond human understanding, speaking words to the departed who can no longer hear us, and sensing what should be inaudible, is both literary and akin to faith or prayer. In other words, we shouldn’t judge things solely by isolating parts and declaring them good or bad, useful or useless. Instead of dismissing them as “meaningless because the phone line isn’t connected” or “it’s impossible to talk to the dead,” when we use our imagination to contemplate what lies behind things, value emerges from the seemingly meaningless, and the essence of things becomes visible.

Furthermore, considering the concept of Bergeria Kujiyama, where the Wind Phone is located, as a place that “nurtures sensitivity and imagination,” with its Forest Library for children and Kikki Forest playground, we hope that it will be understood as a place that supports the attitude of people carrying grief, who are carving out a future for themselves, as well as the aspect of the Wind Phone that is conveyed to society at large.

As I’ve written many times before, I believe that “everyone is living the story of their life.”

We hold dreams and hopes for our own lives and strive daily to make them a reality. However, until they are realized, they remain fiction and illusion. In other words, since they are made-up stories, we can view them as narratives akin to novels or movies.

Family, lovers, and many friends and acquaintances are involved in shaping this story. When someone within it passes away, the story is interrupted, and we grieve while agonizing over how the story will unfold from there.

To fill the void of that loss, we need a new story—one where we can “meet the departed again” or “reconnect with them.”
Gripping the black telephone in “The Wind’s Phone” and engaging in self-questioning allows one to briefly reclaim those severed days. It leads to reflecting on the story up to that point and reconsidering the cause of the grief, helping to organize thoughts about “what exactly is sad and what exactly is painful.”

This is a rediscovery of the self, achieved through the expression of the deep-seated self-awareness within the heart in the form of words. It makes one conscious of the unfolding of a new story. I believe this generates the life force we call “rebirth.”

If we thought that because someone has died and lost their form, we could no longer convey our feelings, the Wind Phone would never have been born.

During my twelve years living in the mountains, I experienced connecting thoughts with animals and plants that don’t speak human language. However, I came to believe that conveying feelings to someone who speaks human language but has passed away requires a different kind of sensitivity than the emotional exchange with animals and plants.

Human lifespans range from 80 to 100 years. Whether one views this as short or long is subjective. Yet, when considering the time spent living versus the time after death, the latter holds an eternity, making us acutely aware of life’s brevity. Therefore, I believe it is crucial to maintain bonds not only during life but also after death.

The Wind Phone was born from the idea that just because something has no physical form doesn’t mean it has vanished. By considering the deceased as still existing, we can connect with them and share our thoughts.

Human “life” and “death” are connected along a straight line, with “death” lying on the extension of “life.” Furthermore, considering that “all things in the world are connected in some way,” ‘life’ and “death” should likewise be seen not as separate entities but as interconnected. This is why I believe the Wind Phone makes it possible to connect thoughts with those who have passed away.

For about three years now, the number of foreigners visiting the Wind Phone has been increasing. Since last year, this trend has become even stronger. Looking at the blog, half of the visitors are from overseas, including the United States, the United Kingdom, France, Germany, Singapore, Hong Kong, Australia, Taiwan, China, New Zealand, and other countries. Why is this happening to many foreigners who are considered logical and rational?

When we lose a loved one, the sadness is universal, regardless of country or era. And the desire to connect with the person we lost, to convey our feelings, to reconnect, and to start over again is the same. If we were to cut off all connection because they passed away, all that would remain is sadness and despair. The belief that we can still connect with the deceased gives those left behind dreams and hope for the future. Connecting with the deceased in our thoughts is so important, and it makes us realize the weight and preciousness of life.

When people are grieving and their vitality is low, they tend to think with their emotions and act on their feelings rather than with logical reasoning. This is because they believe that there is little room for the “salvation” that human emotions seek in a structure built on flawless logic.

The Wind Phone allows us to see the invisible, hear the inaudible, connect anywhere because there are no phone lines… Even if these things are impossible, it is important to feel that we can have vague dreams and hopes, saying things like, “I wish it could be like this,” or “I know it’s impossible, but maybe there’s a way,” rather than thinking logically.

When considering life in the real world, being “ambiguous” and vague actually allows for more rational judgment and response. If this world were truly black or white, left or right, we wouldn’t suffer, grieve, or despair.

Even logical, rational foreigners, when they lose someone they love, still seek “salvation” in something. Perhaps they find that ‘salvation’ in the “ambiguous rationality” that Japanese people possess.

As of March this year, over 300 “Wind Phones” have been installed worldwide. I believe this fact speaks to the power of the “ambiguous rationality” inherent in the Wind Phone.

The depth of grief at the loss of a loved one is not easily understood except by those involved. This is because there is not only the result of the death, but also the process of living together, the passage of time, and history. For example, when we watch a sports game, we are moved by the result of the victory of the player or team we are cheering for. However, the players, coaches, and managers who actually fought in the game are moved differently from us ordinary spectators because they experienced not only the result but also the process of the game together with the players. In the same way, those of us who provide grief care must understand that the grief we feel is only a fraction of the grief of the people involved, even though we may think we understand it.

The grief caused by the loss of a loved one will not disappear no matter how much the surrounding circumstances change, as long as the fact of death remains unchanged. This is because it is the person who creates the situation of grief over the fact of death, and it depends on how the person himself or herself perceives the situation.

Therefore, we believe that it is basically a problem that the person concerned has to make an effort to overcome.

However, there are naturally some people who cannot cope with it. For them, there are specialists such as psychiatrists, psychosomatic physicians, psychosomatic medicine physicians, and clinical psychologists. In a different field, there are religious people who provide support for those seeking emotional healing and salvation.

In the case of Grief Care by Wind Phone, there is no one who can be called a psychotherapist. Nor are there any religious people. By having the grief sufferers face the phone and ask themselves questions about their own grief and suffering, they can objectively observe and sort out the facts that are causing their grief, thereby promoting acceptance, awakening their “self-healing power,” and gaining “awareness” of redirecting their own consciousness. It can be said to be psychotherapy (self-psychotherapy) in which the patient gains “awareness” of the cause of the grief by objectively observing and sorting out the facts.

Why do people who have lost a loved one need “Wind Phone”?

There is a very human reason. In the process of accepting the reality of the loss of a loved one, one needs a “wind phone” to ask oneself “How can I cope with the death of a loved one? Because they cannot accept the reality of their loved one’s sudden disappearance, they somehow try to talk with the “wind phone” and remember the person who is gone by using the “wind phone.

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The 3rd Grief Care by “Wind Phone” hands-on seminar

Date: April 27, 2025, 13:00-16:00
Place: Belgardia Whale Mountain Forest Library
Fee: 5,000 yen (materials provided)
Number of participants: 8 or less (a reception for participants will be held after the seminar)

If you wish to attend, please contact Mr. Sasaki at Belgardia Kujirayama by April 20.
Phone: 0193-44-2544