Heatwaves, Cedar Baths, Etc
The heat is wild.
(And oppressive)
(And IMpressive)
It bares down on Pasadena with an unyielding hand, and I am once again in awe of this planet.
(Who very clearly does not want us on it anymore [fair enough], but that’s a discussion for another time!)
On my mind at present is how powerful these moments can be.
(And destabilizing)
(And extremely intense for a gal with a rare kidney disease as she feels the heat quite literally pushing through the house walls and rendering the central air conditioning only effective to a temperature considerably higher than her kidneys can tolerate)
An opportunity to once again take a step back.
Respect my powerlessness, feel the right kind of small, say thank you for the miracle of air conditioning no matter what, find ways to help.
(Because whether it’s the heatwave barreling through or the way my body decides to behave on any given day these days, there is no amount of planning, wishing, or hoping that can change either)
I can rail against it or get comfortable with that fact.
Admittedly, I’ve done both. You know this by now. I’ve furiously swum against the current until I was utterly exhausted, and I’ve learned to move with the flow of things.
(We all know objectively that it’s easier to take our death grips off of life, of course)
(But practicing that, even when we have the template to know better, is a different story)
Time in Tokyo, where I started this week, helps.
(What a sentence!)
(As I typed it, I thought, “God, whoever reads this is really going to hate me)
(Felt the need to justify that it was for a tour/my job, make you not hate me)
(But here we are)
(I hope you don’t hate me and I also finally know that I really have no control over that)
(In any event)
Tokyo. Dream place.
My return to Japan looks tenuous at best from the day we book this Billboard Live run. José is the most concerned and insists we put safeguards around the booking.
(I understand)
(He worries for my health, has trauma from the initial bout of this in February, is concerned about what happens if we have an emergency again in a foreign country, etc)
(The first week in NY, where we’re recording the new album, he can tentatively get behind)
(But Tokyo seems unnecessarily risky to him)
I love him / hold space for these concerns and simultaneously I know I need to get to Tokyo. For the first time in my life, though, I can’t put my finger on why. All I can say is that it’s important. Essential, even. Not for the usual reasons. Not because I adore Japan, want to play a live show again, not even because I want to go to the heaven that is Itoya Stationery.
I simply feel a gut pull, something from my soul telling me I need to be there from August 28th - September 5th, 2024.
Life moves slowly, quickly, slowly. A new album gets made, a whole ass kung fu short gets filmed, too.
(A discussion! For another! TTalk!)
And then we are in Tokyo.
The heat upon arrival hits me like a ton of bricks.
(Wild)
(Oppressive)
(IMpressive)
My kidneys are not happy, and I wonder if José was maybe right. Still we get to the hotel, check in, settle.
It comes to me then.
(Quiet, the way the best things always are)
A little voice tells me to search for healing shrines.
(But first a primer on shrines in the magical city that is Tokyo)
(The entire city is radically modern and also woven with shrines, large and small)
(Everywhere you turn there’s another one nestled between buildings or standing quietly at the end of a bustling street)
(They’re everywhere if you know where to look—pockets of calm scattered throughout the urban chaos, quietly coexisting with the fast pace of daily life)
(Each one feels like a reminder that, no matter how modern or hectic things get, there’s always a place to pause, reflect, and breathe)
Peace in the middle of the busiest city in the world.
The air shifts. People come and go, some stopping to bow, to pray, write a wish on a wooden ema and hang it.
Through it all, there is an understated elegance in how it’s all done.
Nothing flashy, just reverence.
(As though the shrines are there to remind you—whether you're praying, thinking, or just being—that stillness is the most powerful thing you can find in a city or anywhere)
A simple Google Search leads me to a few healing specific shrines, two of which are within 10 minutes each from our hotel. I don’t question it, grabbing an Uber first thing to a shrine that has been there since the year 900.
This island country in the literal middle of a typhoon. Sweltering. I go up to the monk sweating bullets, ask for a stamp from the shrine. I watch him write it, try to memorize every calligraphic stroke. He informs me that anything green is specific to this shrine’s healing capacities.
(I methodically Google Translate and pick up the things that speak to me)
(A little green dragon, a green stone, and a small fortune so spot on it knocks the breath out of my stomach)
“You will find new weak spots in unexpected parts of your body that you were confident about. If you find any, consider it a stroke of luck. Taking care of your weak spots will have a big impact on your future health.”
(Girllll)
I visit the next shrine, just a five-minute walk from our hotel, the following day. This one is from the year 1000 and boasts four colors. Green, I know now, is for healing. The torii gate is guarded by two majestic lions.
At this shrine you’re able to buy an ema, or wooden tablet, and write a wish down. You hang it there with other wishes… this beautiful melding of yours and anyone else’s desires. I ask for the ability to move through this. To get off the medicine. To commit to healing. To release resistance.
And then, of course, it’s time to put on eyeliner and sing on stage and stuff.
Each set is spiritual in a way I wasn’t expecting. At some points I can barely stand, but luckily every note feels like it is carrying me instead of the other way around. I’m struck, once again, by how insane it is to have friends this talented. Our dear friend Mitsutaka Nagira of Jazz The New Chapter snaps this on my disposable backstage.
On my final morning visit to our hotel adjacent shrine I ask the monk to inscribe me an ofuda - a wooden placard with a prayer specific to the healing of disease. I also buy 5 cedar baths that Google Translate informs me are for healing. Finally, I shazam the fuck out of the epic music that is playing. It becomes my absolute obsession this week. (If you don’t know Michio Miyagi do yourself a favor, pause your doom scroll one day this week and go on a GLORY SCROLL. Learn all about him. He is perfection.)
Quickly, slowly, quickly. I am on a plane. I am home.
(Where the heat is wild)
(Oppressive)
(IMpressive)
I tentatively watch my body, waiting with baited breath for some kind of indication that this trip was a terrible idea. It doesn’t come. What comes, instead, are absolutely stunning lab work results, the likes of which I haven’t seen since the hospital. The kind that make you think, "Okay, maybe I have turned a corner?! Perhaps I should get back into a life of 7 am lobby calls and 15 hour flights?!”
And then a day later something else hits. Unclear what. The endless kidney yoyo. Nausea, swelling, headaches. Could be the heat? Could be nothing? (High five, powerlessness!) José calls from his shoot with Janette, I have a real actual cry the way I need to. And then I remember my cutie fortune from the first shrine.
“You will find new weak spots in unexpected parts of your body that you were confident about. If you find any, consider it a stroke of luck. Taking care of your weak spots will have a big impact on your future health.”
A stroke of luck. I celebrate it.
And then I grab one of my cedar bath packets, fill our glorious tub, drop it in. The cedar smells like something from another planet—earthy, sharp, the kind of scent that should come with its own soundtrack.
(Michio Miyagi is the obvious soundtrack)
(May I once again suggest him)
It hits me there again. Another moment of surrender, another reminder that I can’t control much, but I can still choose to let go of the resistance. Just like my prayer at Karasumori, I let go of the resistance. Or, at least, I try.
Little moments.
(Sweating through a Tokyo shrine)
(Playing a show)
(Soaking in a bath)
Continuous reminders to embrace letting go.
Because the truth is, control was always an illusion. On a good day I love that fact. The heat will still be oppressive, my kidneys will still do what they want, and this planet will keep spinning, whether we’re fighting or not.
So I learn to cherish a certain peace. A quiet one. The kind that sneaks up on you in a Tokyo shrine, in a disposable photo backstage, in a cedar-scented bath. The kind that reminds you: it’s not about controlling the waves; it’s about learning to float.
(And if that’s not worth celebrating, I don’t know what is)
I love you. Thank you for being here with me. More next week.
t