Tag: Bell Gardia

On June 16 of this year, Japan’s first officially recognized “Wind Phone” was completed. Sadly, its founder, Mr. H, passed away from pancreatic cancer on July 10. We understand that those who helped build the Wind Phone, together with Mr. H’s elder sister, are now carrying out the exterior landscaping and garden work and will continue to maintain the site.

Having lost his wife before him, Mr. H longed to convey his thoughts and feelings to her while he himself was battling pancreatic cancer. This inspired him to establish a Wind Phone. With the help of his friends, he managed to complete it on June 16. By then, he was using a wheelchair, but we have been told that he was the very first person to use the phone.

In Japan, “Wind Phone” is a registered trademark in Classes 9, 16, and 41. Therefore, a licensing fee is required for any use of the name or concept. In the past, several people have expressed an interest in creating a Wind Phone, but most of those plans were abandoned because of the licensing fee. Mr. H’s case was exceptional, as he devoted himself to the project while risking his life to see it completed.

P.S. The monument inscribed “Birthplace of the Wind Phone,” featured in our previous post, was erected on June 13 by the Association for the Preservation of the Wind Phone. We sincerely thank all members of the Association for their support and cooperation.

The Wind Phone, located on a hill in Namiita, Otsuchi Town, was established in December 2010. It was originally created out of personal grief following the death of my cousin.

The following year, the Great East Japan Earthquake claimed many precious lives, leaving behind bereaved family members many times greater in number, each carrying grief and enduring deep sorrow. Seeing the situation before my eyes, I felt that, as one of those who had survived, there was something I could do. I planted trees and flowers in the area where the Wind Phone had been installed, placed potted plants there, and laid stone slabs along the path, opening the space as an earthquake memorial garden that anyone could use at any time, free of charge.

Over time, it came to be regarded as a symbolic presence for people facing the grief of bereaved families and many others. The historical background of the Great East Japan Earthquake—the collective sorrow of that time and the need for healing—had a strong influence. The Wind Phone can therefore be said to have evolved from a personal memorial device into a social symbol of grief care born in the wake of the disaster.

Today, people visit not only from within Japan but also from many countries around the world, seeking the original Wind Phone. At present, more than 600 Wind Phones have been installed worldwide. Considering the current global situation, it is likely that uncertainty will continue for some time. In addition, the sorrow of losing a loved one is a deeply human emotion that remains unchanged in every era and in every country. For these reasons, I believe the number of Wind Phones will continue to increase.

As the Association for Preserving the Wind Phone, we have decided to establish a monument marking “the Birthplace of the Wind Phone.” Through this, we hope to seek everyone’s support in maintaining and preserving the environment as it is, while also clearly recording and examining the history of the Wind Phone, both past and future.

For more information about the Association for Preserving the Wind Phone, please visit our website.

In his “Outline of the Theory of Peasant Art,” Kenji Miyazawa wrote, “Until the whole world becomes happy, there can be no individual happiness.” As an ideal, I have no objection to this thought. But is it perhaps an abstract image of an ideal?

After all, what people feel to be happiness differs from one individual to another. How, then, should we understand the sense of happiness of the world as a whole?

In my own case, to give a familiar example, there was a plant called “Sanji-so” in a flowerpot. It had grown so densely that even when I watered it, the water would not soak into the soil. Only four or five flowers would bloom. This year, I replanted it in a slightly larger pot, and as many as twenty flowers bloomed beautifully. I could tell that the plant was happy. Seeing that made me feel happy.

Also, when people who have come from unfamiliar countries visit the “Phone of the Wind” and say things such as, “What a beautiful place this is,” or “This is a necessary place for people whose hearts have nowhere to go. Please continue to preserve it for many years to come,” I am filled with deep happiness, along with a sense of profound emotion.

Perhaps it is because of my age, but I can no longer find many things that I truly want. The happiness I feel when I see the relieved expressions of people who visit the “Phone of the Wind,” whose hearts have been “healed” or “saved,” is something that cannot be replaced by anything else.

When people speak about their own happiness, I believe it reveals what they have thought about, what they have done, and how they have lived.

A human life lasts around eighty years, which is a long span of time, while the life of flowers and plants is short, lasting only about a year. For that very reason, the results of the actions and care of the person who raises them appear immediately in the plants. In the case of human beings, however, the results of a person’s actions do not appear right away. They gradually emerge as consequences. Even if a person becomes angry and asks, “Why must I go through something like this?” they must recognize that everything is the result of their own actions.

Therefore, it is only natural that what kind of state can be called happiness differs from person to person. I believe it is impossible to gather the happiness of the entire world into one single understanding.

What do you feel happiness to be?

In general, healing is often something we receive passively from others—through therapy, massage, or similar means. However, the healing experienced through the “Wind Phone” is different. It is gained through an active act: picking up the receiver oneself and speaking from the heart.

Modern forms of healing tend to be passive—something done to us by someone else. The Wind Phone, however, is not like that. One must go there in person, pick up the receiver, and engage in a dialogue of the heart—a kind of self-reflection. This is not about being healed by others, but about regaining oneself through an active process. In that process, one awakens one’s own innate capacity to heal and, through this awareness, reconnects with one’s original vitality. It is not a place where one is “healed” by others, but a place where one “heals oneself.”

For example, when we become ill or injured, we go to a hospital, receive a doctor’s diagnosis, and undergo treatment or hospitalization. In such cases, patients naturally wish to recover their health and return to their former lives, and they follow the doctor’s instructions carefully. But what happens when someone loses a loved one and is overcome by grief? Just as with illness, they strongly wish to return to their previous emotional state and everyday life. It is only natural to want to be released from sorrow and suffering.

Yet, what is the reality? Many people are able, over time, to move forward in life while carrying their grief. At the same time, there are those who, despite their wishes, find it difficult to break free from the weight of that sorrow. Even so, many eventually come to realize that they cannot remain as they are forever and begin to seek a way out of their suffering. There are also those who, while holding onto their grief, may become isolated and fall into depression.

While illness and injury are physical conditions, grief is a state in which the heart has been wounded. Unlike physical ailments, it cannot be cured through surgery or medication. There are therapists, of course, but for those experiencing grief, it is even more important than in the case of physical illness to have a strong desire to return to oneself. Without that inner will, it is difficult to move beyond grief.

The Wind Phone offers a place where those who have lost someone dear, and who are immersed in deep sorrow, can engage in a dialogue with themselves. Through this process, they can begin to organize their confused thoughts. It encourages individuals to take active steps in reclaiming their own vitality. In this sense, it is a form of therapy without a therapist. In other words, it is a process in which people experiencing grief come to trust that they possess the capacity for self-recovery and carry out that healing themselves.

After all, we know ourselves better than anyone else. It is said that depending on how our own hearts perceive our current situation, both mind and body can be guided accordingly. Our actions and our words are controlled by our own hearts. The Wind Phone can be seen as a form of therapy that helps people become aware that they themselves must take the initiative to act.

As scheduled, I was admitted to Iwate Medical University Hospital on February 16. During the nine days leading up to the operation, I underwent various tests and preoperative rehabilitation before finally going into surgery.

Because I was under both epidural and general anesthesia, I have no memory of what happened during the operation. When I regained consciousness, I found that I had eight or nine tubes attached to my body and was unable to move. Even so, I was fortunate that my arms and legs were not restrained; I later heard that in some cases patients are restrained to prevent them from pulling out the tubes themselves.

Afterward, my family told me that the cut surface of the lung after resection looked “as if it had been stapled—many times.” I wish I could have seen it myself, but of course that was impossible under general anesthesia.

My postoperative course was smooth. After spending the standard two nights and three days in the intensive care unit, I was transferred to a general ward. The following day (the 27th), all the tubes were removed, and on the 28th, the doctor told me that I could be discharged the next day. I felt no pain or discomfort at that time and even thought to myself, “I must be made of iron,” as I left the hospital.

However, starting the very next day, I began to feel pain—whether from the wound or my lung—and even a single cough became quite painful. Although I took the prescribed medication, I could not sleep at night and have been spending my days enduring discomfort and being unable to do much of anything. Looking back, I realize that the comfort I felt in the hospital was largely due to the intravenous drip I had in my arm. Whether I like it or not, it seems I will need to take things slowly for a while.

In the grief care activities of the “Wind Phone,” we often say that each person has an innate ability to heal themselves, and that it is important to recognize and trust this ability and live one’s life fully. Even in surgery, once a certain level of medical treatment is completed, recovery ultimately depends on the body’s natural healing power through the immune system. Through this experience, I have come to understand that such recovery is inevitably accompanied by a certain amount of pain and suffering.

In cases of grief as well, there must be a pain and suffering that only the person experiencing it can truly understand. And perhaps the only thing that can ease that pain is the kindness of those around them.

Information about the “Association to Protect the Wind Phone” is available on our website. We would greatly appreciate your support.