Jeepney Press November-December 2022 / Geraldine Limpo

T h o u g h t s i n A u t u m n

by Geraldine Limpo

The Asian Civilizations Museum in Singapore exhibits exquisite porcelain from Qing Yongcheng’s reign. Stems of chrysanthemums rise from the base of the plate, its blossoms radiating their beauty along the cavetto; above these, butterflies flutter. This plate is not just beautiful; its creation is a potter’s triumph in managing the high temperatures of the kiln in which the plate was baked twice—the first time to bake the clay and set the cobalt blue underglaze, and then a second time, to vitrify the enamels that account for the pinks and yellows. The composition is rich in symbolism. As the chrysanthemums bloom in autumn (considered a late season within a calendar year), it symbolizes to the Chinese the elderly scholarly gentlemen (literati). Butterflies symbolize heavenly blessings. Thus, it is conjectured that this decorative porcelain plate was given as a birthday gift to an elderly gentleman wishing him abundant favours. Remembering this porcelain characterizes my state of mind every autumn—reflective and in search of beauty in the (metaphoric) sea of change we are in.

I recall starting a shojin ryouri course meal in Azabujuban with a recitation of a monk’s prayer that thanks, among many, the farmers who toiled in the fields that produce the vegetables being served to us that evening in a quiet private room for two. The prayer ended with a preparation of oneself to consume the various dishes plated lovingly in carefully selected ceramic and glass vessels, leaving me profoundly grateful, if not undeserving.

The red, yellow and brown maple leaves of Arashiyama come to mind too. Every autumn sighting in unforgettable Kyoto leaves me in awe and also makes me wonder how differently the autumnal panorama is from that of spring when the sakura blooms, and yet is equally breathtaking. Time brings change, and change, as these visual imageries evidence, can be heartwarmingly beautiful.

The pink, lilac and mauve colours of the fallen leaves in Maruyama-koen are just as vivid in my mind. Walking on a carpet of these on crisp November days reminds me how beauty is communicated as effectively in the lifeless.

I think of the fruits of the autumn too— the bright orange kaki and its sweet and mild flavour, the Aomori fuji, lime green ourin and juicy Jonagold, the koshu from Yamanashi (that the poet Matsuo Basho praised for its sweetness), the small seedless Delaware and the purple Pione grapes, the crisp nashi whose cultivation date back to Edo jidai (1603-1867) and its popular variety kosui.

Recently, I went home to Manila to attend a reunion with my dormmates in freshman year. In the few hours we spent together, I listened enthusiastically to life stories exchanged and celebrated, old songs played, sang and danced, 80s and 90s trivia quizzes. Life chastened and moulded us in the years following that freshman year in university, and somehow, it mattered little that I failed to recognize more than half of my dormmates, or that I knew so little of them even then. The homecoming sent me on a reverie very similar to my sensorial experiences of autumn. I encountered in that reunion beauty in warm re-introductions, enthusiastic attentiveness, random acts of kindness and hearty communal laughter.

Geraldine Limpo

Jeepney Press