By Kokoro Still
Before a sensu is opened,
Kokoro is already folded inside—
a silence waiting to breathe.
When the paper spreads,
a small breeze stirs the air,
not enough to cool the body,
but enough to remind us
that even silence can move with Kokoro.
The sensu closes,
and Kokoro folds again—
waiting quietly to be opened once more.
The Japanese sensu (扇子, folding fan) has been used for over a thousand years.
Made of bamboo and paper or silk, it first served as a way to ease summer heat.
Later it appeared on stage in Noh and Kabuki, shaping refined gestures,
and in the tea ceremony, placed on tatami to mark respect between host and guest.
Folded, the sensu conceals stillness.
Opened, it releases air.
A First Gift of Silence
One summer, my grandmother placed a sensu in my hands.
It was closed, its weight light yet certain,
like a pause waiting to breathe.
I did not yet know how to open it with care,
so the paper spread unevenly,
a small sound breaking the hush of the room.
Even then, Kokoro seemed to rest in that moment—
in the hesitation before movement,
in the silence that precedes a breeze.
When the Breeze Appears
A sensu does not create wind as much as it reveals it.
The air was already here,
but folded into stillness.
When the sensu spread wide,
the quiet shifted across my face,
soft as a memory returning without words.
Kokoro was not in the breeze alone,
but in the pause that carried it—
an opening that made stillness visible.
Quiet Gestures Among Noise
At a summer festival, I sometimes noticed a sensu in someone’s hand—
painted with waves,
or with blossoms faintly opening in the lantern light.
The air was heavy with heat,
yet each time the fan opened,
a small hush slipped between the noise,
a brief stillness where Kokoro seemed to dwell.
Even amid drums and laughter,
that quiet gesture lingered—
not loud, but folded into the movement of opening and closing.
The Quiet That Remains Folded
When the sensu was closed,
the breeze vanished,
but something remained in the hand—
a faint coolness,
a silence folded thinly between the ribs.
As the festival ended
and lanterns dimmed,
that folded quiet lingered.
In the absence of wind,
a stillness held Kokoro within it,
like a silence waiting to be opened again.
A sensu is not only for cooling.
It is a gesture that folds silence,
releases it,
and folds it back again.
Kokoro rests here,
not in the strength of the breeze,
but in the quiet rhythm of the sensu’s opening and closing.
And silence, folded thin with Kokoro,
still waits—
ready to be opened once more.
Featured image: The image was created by AI (ChatGPT)
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