The Ghibli Museum, is an absolutely magical place; visiting there, I count to be amoung one of my life's peak experiences.  If you ever have the chance [to visit there], take it.

      Sadly, one is not allowed to take photographs inside.  So, I'll just try and describe things, as best I can.

      On the first floor, there were lots of displays and demonstrations—some of them interactive.  They showed one, how animation really worked.  (One got the impression—that Miyazaki spent . . . endless time, in such pursuits. . . . .)

      We also got so see a new (unreleased) movie.  At first I thought—this animation is not up to snuff.  However, I left feeling the short was PROFOUND.  I forgot my own adage: It's not the special effects that make a movie, it's the STORY.

      The second floor was the best—it was like being inside the genius' mind.

      The whole place was like a fairy-tale castle—one was able to take stairs up, and go though small doorways, 'n stuff.  And, of course, at the end was a gift shop.  :) ;)

      And finally, the roof—where I had, I believe, the best cup of coffee, I have ever had (One PAID, handsomely, for such a priviledge, of course.  (!)).  Up here, photography was once again permitted.

      Anyone familiar, with Miyazaki's work, can't help, but recognize—and empathize [with]—this guy:

       :) :)

      Like a magical, fairy-tale place, where dreams can come true:

      Afterwards, we found ourselves, in a sort of park.  There, we met a very nice, older doggie, named "Chopin"—"Like the composer."  :)

      Then the . . . not so magical part, of our little sojourn.  I started having MAJOR trouble, with my heart.  (I'm not entirely sure—I didn't have (another) heart attack, some time just before, or during, this trip.)

      I find it interesting, that–even if while one is in a foreign power–an American still faces finacial dismemberment—if one seeks emergency medical treatment.  (This is a fact of life for an American.)  I'd find in AMAZING—that a first world country, would tolerate that sort of thing—but it's just the more of the endlessly repeated message of our government: The citizens don't matter.  (There was also the matter of not being able to communicate.  I imagined if I had pointed to my chest enough, and evinced distress, though—we would've gotten the message across.)

      So there I was, standing is a bus queue, honestly not sure if I was‐quite literally–dying.  I looked around, and took in the view of the sun setting, against a "Japanese tree":

      And I thought to myself, astonishingly stoically, if this is it, this can be enough:

      And again—Japan is just plain damn weird:

      More beautiful setting sun, shining on trees.

      I honestly wonder, if the . . . "spirit of Japan," caused me to so stoically face, my potentially impending mortality.  I may well never know.  However, those trees, and the setting sun—provided such a beautiful, poetic, timeless moment.

      Hmm. . . . I think it's time, for some weird sort of summary.  Your life is finite—grasp it, hold it, feel in your heart, the passage of time, your life. . . .

      And then go out and DO THINGS.  Like, perchance, visiting the Ghibli Museum.

       :) ;)

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