Obon

We are in the midst of the buddhist Obon festival, which is essentially the exact Japanese version of Mexico's Day of the Dead. I actually felt like I was in Mexico again...

It's the time when families get together and visit the graves and shrines of their ancestors, pray to them, give them offerings, and invite their souls back to this realm to visit them in their homes for a day or two. As expected, there is a lot of eating and drinking involved, and dancing too.

I spent the whole day and night with Yuko's family as they took me around to their family's homes and gravesites. Yuko had to work so it was just me, her father, mother and sister. We first went to her great grandparent's grave which was in a cemetary. It was in a serene forested corner of Kawanishi, surrounded by huge cedar trees buzzing with cicadas. As we entered the sacred pocket of stone pillars and shrines, we were enveloped with strong incense. Families gathered around and lit sticks of it, put their hands together to pray, and arranged some flowers. Some graves were still scattered in chaos from the earthquake, and some were completely renewed and put back together.

After that we went to an elderly woman's home (maybe a great aunt) where we prayed to the butsudan, the small shrine that families keep in their homes, in honor of loved ones that have passed away. There, we knelt, lit incense, prayed, and chimed a small bowl gong.

The rest of the afternoon was spent visiting countless homes throughout Kawanishi and Yoshida, being welcomed and treated to obon food and tea by more relatives. I became quieter as I ran out of Japanese and sort of just started observing the whole thing. Even though the focus of the holiday is on the dead, it is not a sorrowful or morbid thing, but a time to consider time passing in your own life and enjoy the presence of the ones you are with now.

After the family stuff, it had become dark and we moved on to the main buddhist temple in the center of town where our friend Hiro works as a priest. We went to the massive graveyard behind the temple. It was busy, smoky, and candlelit. There was a large gong chiming away. We found Yuko's father's parents grave and prayed there...they tried to repair some of the stone incense cages which had been shattered in the earthquake and huge chips of stone were gaping out of the side of the pillar after it had fallen. At the front of the temple, we made coin offerings and bathed ourself in smoke, and went inside. The inside of this temple is so ornate and garnished...it had been under repair because it got pretty smashed up in the quake, and they just finished renewing everything by obon. It was so beautiful inside. I couldn't really understand what everything was for but I did appreciate it. The family found a small golden plaque-like shrine with names on it, and we prayed there too. Outside, priests were singing and running about doing their blessings and prayers.

Returned to Sai's house and Yuko was there. We ate and drank and walked to a local cemetary with a paper lantern that is meant to guide the souls back to the home with you. There, adults left sweets on different graves and, much like Halloween, the children would run about collecting them and putting them in a bag. We prayed at each shrine that was lit by candles 'just in case', and their family's as well. Walked back home with the lantern, prayed again at the butsudan. Random people came in and out and were welcomed with food and bows.

It was the most Japanese I've felt since I've been here, in that I was welcomed with open arms in a family situation, asked to pray in the same way, and wasn't asked about what makes me different. I wasn't gawked at when I lit incense or isolated as an American. The focus was all on family and their ancestors, and enjoying life as time carries on.