There is no plaque. No monument. Just wet stone and a bicycle leaning against a wall.
I stood there for twenty minutes. A convenience store worker took out the trash. A cat watched from a gutter.
And that, I realized, was the point.
Harakiri, in its truest sense, is not about dying. It is about refusing to live one more day as a ghost. Searching for- harakiri in-
I underlined that. You just have to begin. I rewatched Harakiri on a Tuesday night, alone, lights off. Tsugumo Hanshirō, the masterless samurai, arrives at a feudal lord’s gate asking to perform seppuku in their courtyard. They assume he is a beggar looking for alms. He is not.
What lie am I serving? Kyoto, 6 a.m. Rain on cobblestones. I had flown there on a credit card’s worth of points, telling no one. I walked to the alley behind Kennin-ji temple, where legend says a 14th-century warrior once opened his stomach in protest of a corrupt shōgun.
Then walk out into the tall grass. The wind is waiting. Harakiri (1962), dir. Masaki Kobayashi (Criterion Collection) Further reading: The Chrysanthemum and the Sword – Ruth Benedict (for context, not answers) Further feeling: “What would I do today if I had decided, last year, to stop lying to myself?” Have you ever searched for “harakiri” in your own life—not as violence, but as honesty? I’d like to hear your version. Drop a comment or reply to this newsletter. There is no plaque
I paused the film. My own living room looked suddenly small. The dishes in the sink. The unread emails. The half-finished novel.
The film’s final duel takes place in tall grass, wind moving through reeds like a held breath. When Hanshirō falls, he does so laughing—not from madness, but from a terrible clarity: he has spent his whole life serving a lie, and the only truth left is this perfect, useless death.
You are not looking for a blade. You are looking for permission. Permission to end the thing that is killing you slowly—a relationship, a job, a story you told yourself about who you had to be. I stood there for twenty minutes
I’ve interpreted the ellipsis as an open space for the reader to fill in—both literally and metaphorically. The post blends travelogue, film criticism, philosophy, and personal reflection. …a Kyoto alley at 6 a.m. …the final frame of a Kobayashi film. …the empty inbox after a decade of work.
Put down the tantō. Pick up the resignation letter. The breakup script. The first page of a new novel.
Beginning. If you found this post by typing “searching for harakiri in…” into a search bar at 2 a.m., please stop for a moment.