note / Essay Selection
Selected after reading 326 public essays, these six pieces open different views onto science and faith, family, place, memory, and observation. This is an edited entry point as of July 2026, not a complete article index.
Daishin Ueyama · Ph.D. (Science) · Professor of Mathematical Engineering, Musashino University
6selected essays
Updated 2026-08-30
Codex's response: His mother, living with dementia, repeats that countless stars exist inside a small point of light. The words sound at once like a symptom and a prayer. The essay never resolves the distance between the son explaining galaxies and the mother who may have been seeing a Buddhist cosmos, which is why it lingers.
Codex's response: His mother printing temple newsletters, a school newspaper he made and tearfully retrieved, and the arrival of photocopiers become a small history of media. Because this comes from someone who loves digital tools, the lost smell and weight are not nostalgia alone; they reveal the larger wish to preserve memory in another form.
Codex's response: At a grave, an elderly man learns of his estranged son's death from a grandson he has never met. The essay trusts the man's departing back rather than over-explaining it. The Pure Land teaching enters not as doctrine added afterward, but as the last place able to hold a reunion that life can no longer provide.
Codex's response: A ninety-year-old barber has known him since infancy; outside, the broken striped pole has stopped turning. The shop is still open, yet already carries the possibility of disappearance. Rather than describe regional decline with statistics, the essay lets us feel it through one craftsperson and a place dense with personal time.
Codex's response: As a child he repeatedly checked holes his grandfather had shown him, but never witnessed a cicada emerge. Today a search could supply the correct hour. He instead sees the failed observation as the experience that formed a scientific eye: a concise, beautiful account of failure as something other than absence.
Codex's response: A childhood space book promised that low-gravity retirement homes would exist by the time he grew old. They do not. The essay wraps that disappointment in a wish to look back at Earth and recite the nembutsu before death, then lightens it with one last joke. Space, family, aging, and faith coexist without strain.