A Private History of Happiness Read Online Free PDF Page A

sometimes comes to visit me. When he has nothing else to do, he joins me for a stroll. He is sixteen and I am sixty; but although our ages are far apart, we take pleasure in the same things. Sometimes we pick grass and berries, or gather yams and parsley. Other times, we go down to the rice paddies at the foot of the hill, and make sheaves of the leftover ears.
    On fine days we climb up to the peak; gazing at the distant sky over my old home, we see Mt. Kohata, Fushimi village, Toba and Hatsukashi. Nobody owns this view, and nothing will stop us from enjoying it [. . .] Depending on the season, on the way home we gather cherry blossoms, or look for maple leaves, or snap off bracken, or pick fruit and nuts; some of these I offer to the Buddha, and some I take home with me.

    In 1212, when he wrote this passage, Kamo no Chomei was living alone in a small hut that he had built in the mountains. He had been a successful poet at the Japanese court, but eight years ago, he had taken Buddhist vows and given up court life, retiring to his secluded home.
    This text is from a work called Hojo-ki ( The Ten-Foot-Square Hut ).Other passages give more detail of that hut and the setting. For example, there were luxuriant clumps of bracken fern growing along the east side of the hut, while to the north there was a little garden with a modest fence of brushwood. The hut merged with the natural world.
    Everything was carefully arranged in Kamo no Chomei’s solitary home. There was a small shrine, placed so that it caught the light of the setting sun. He had boxes of poetry books and the music of nature in the background, a harp, and a writing desk by the window. It was all neat—and could have been lonely.
    But he was friendly with the man who looked after the hillside. Such an easygoing relationship between different social ranks was possible only outside the finely tuned society of court and capital. Here people of every rank talked to each other.
    Even more surprising, as he acknowledged, was his companionship with the caretaker’s son: “He is sixteen and I am sixty; but although our ages are far apart, we take pleasure in the same things.” It was the most spontaneous friendship, founded on a natural convergence of tastes and inclinations. This was different from all the rigid distinctions with which he had lived at court.
    Together, former courtier and young peasant wandered the countryside and shared simple pleasures. As equals, they roamed the fields or searched for berries, nuts, and other little things.
    There were many happy moments together. The finest was when they climbed “up to the peak” and the old man looked out across the land. From this vantage point, next to his friend, he saw the places where he had lived—and once been important: “Gazing at the distant sky over my old home, we see Mt. Kohata, Fushimi village, Toba and Hatsukashi.” He had turned down a request by the emperor that he should return to his post among the poets. He did not want to be back down there among the wealthy and the powerful, the ambitious and the proud.
    Up here , the view was free in every sense. He was able to enjoy the moment—with his young friend, but without needing permission from anyone.

A Breakfast Served with Stories and Laughter
    George Cutler, law student, writing in his diary
    LITCHFIELD, CONNECTICUT • NOVEMBER 29, 1820
    For the moon was bright, the snow full of reflection, I full of breakfast, and Nate [his horse] full of fire; while the cocks of the country crowed about us for music and the stars shot this way and that about the heavens, as if making a display of fireworks for our amusement. All was silent. As we rose [rode up] the hills and looked back upon the far distance which ran down the valley to the southeast, the two extremes of the splendour of the united powers of snow and moonbeams and the contrasted darkness of the deep ravines into which light would not penetrate, filled the whole view. I often stopped to