Meditation, going back to a time where brushes danced on silk writing poetry as the faraway sound from a forge said of a katana sword being made by a hammer beating like a brave heart.
Going back to Shinto and Bushido, to where your word of honor were more valuable than a pouch filled with gold nuggets...

From the east horizon over the seas a golden glow,
as it spreads over the land before the Raising Sun
comes to bless terraces full of sprouting rice stems
that from the gentle waters are growing to the sky.

Cloudless blue heavens soon will be full with gold
over the top of the mountains where falcons fly,
the Raising Sun will let its fingers to touch down
and reach the heart beating on the Emperor insides.

The Morning God will stretch the string of his bow
so the Early Arrow can search for an honest man
that’s bending over as he toil the all blessed earth,
the sweat falling from his forehead is the supplicant.

Many earthquakes had given the very old country
thousand wrinkles on the beloved face of the land,
silky banners proclaiming loyalty to its sacred name
by many Emperors, Shoguns and noble Samurais.

The Afternoon God wearing his armor is waiting
with is naked sword katana hold fast by his hands,
to abide by his duty of never let the Raising Sun
touch the ground, all the sky is red with one cut.

The Evening God takes the dying Raising Sun
wrapping it in a shroud made of entwined nights,
but all is well because tomorrow, a new one will
be born over Shimaguni, the Island Country of Japan.