People use the word magical too much, especially in reference to Tokyo.
But I now get it because I did have several moments when wandering and looking and searching in solitude that I felt myself transported from this world into another place of waking dreams, a state of mind where anything felt possible, where the air felt pregnant, moments where anything could happen, intersections where I could choose a direction and never return to the life I’ve lived and known.
It was like walking through the gauzy cloth of a Murakami story, a Miyazaki film, a ukiyo-e woodblock print made manifest and real.
This one night I paused by this subway station and its few passengers and watched the trains come and go, the still water reflections confusing my senses, the music of the city lulling me into a trance. Time was not moving. Or it was racing ahead. It did not matter. There would be another train soon.