While in Hawai'i I went to a couple of Bon Festivals (or O-bon) held at some of the Buddhist Missions near the beach. O-Bon is one of the Japanese traditions kept & celebrated in Hawai'i by its past Japanese immigrant population. It has taken on a distinct local flavor as perhaps more emphasis is put on the Festival of Lanterns part of the night than in contemporary Japan. This is an event where the folks at the festival release lanterns inscribed with the name of the deceased - ancestors and recent alike - into the ocean (in Japan it was into the rivers where they floated downstream to the ocean).
Below you will read my impressions of one of those nights.
In a point of "form" - there's a style of Japanese literature, Haibun, where one "sprinkes haiku" within journalistic prose. That explains why it looks like I tried to sneak in some poetry on the coattails of my prose. As Cap said, "Dash the rules!"
Nearby in the dark, a temple’s gong sounds out and fades. From the rise of a small hill, hundreds of dimly lit windows outline a sleepy village. Songs of planting rice and rich harvests linger in the night air. Another temple bell sounds from further off – perhaps on another hill.
A sea-scented breeze wafts in from the direction of the village and the scene shifts and rolls. The lights from the windows waver and all the houses lined up on a distant street appear to lift up from their foundations and then are carried into the center of town on a dense swath of small white flowers. A few houses are swallowed by the moving wall of night blossoms and with a sigh, surrender into the fold.
The rest of the village bobs up and down in turn as the mass of flowers and drifting shacks wash by. A chant and another toll of a temple bell mark the approach of newcomers. Lamps from a caravan of dozens of new folk approach from the over the rise of the rolling hill and set up camp on the outskirts of the rippling village. The new fires flicker and add to the constellation of lights that are at spread out and yet huddled together.
A flash from a nearby camera instantly and mercilessly destroys the illusion. Hundreds of floating lanterns nestled among sea foam reflect back the cold, harsh magnesium flare. Then, another flash from another camera. Hushed voices and giggling from twilight silhouettes reveal a crowd on the beach releasing more lanterns into the ocean during an O-Bon festival.
There are names on the lanterns to honor and respect their family – some lost generations ago along with the images of their faces, and some whose names are still found frequently on the tongues of the family that were just here – dancing and laughing with them at last year’s festival.
Back in the surf, some lanterns keep close to shore, because they are to new to death and crave life. There are others that linger still, because even though their families try to send them off, they hesitate – knowing of their daughter with the drug problem, or their father struggling to make ends meet. Two lanterns head out together to sea playfully tapping against each other, perhaps grandmother and grandfather finally together again. And there! There two cling together… a young departed daughter of the distant past growing up in the ethereal world who has tonight finally met her soul mate, also taken in his youth, lost on the shores of a recent foreign war. But many lanterns rush out to sea, happy to be rid of their bounds for a night, knowing that they can never be truly released from this cycle.
As the land meets the ocean, the Living meet the Dead and mingle and renew an unspoken covenant. As long as we remember those who came before us, they will watch over us. And when we meet and officially recognize this bond, we insure the future: their future and ours. As our flames burn out naturally over time or are accidentally extinguished, our progeny will light a candle in remembrance; they will sing our songs for us and dance our dances for us.
While in Hawai'i I went to a couple of Bon Festivals (or O-bon) held at some of the Buddhist Missions near the beach. O-Bon is one of the Japanese traditions kept & celebrated in Hawai'i by its past Japanese immigrant population. It has taken on a distinct local flavor as perhaps more emphasis is put on the Festival of Lanterns part of the night than in contemporary Japan. This is an event where the folks at the festival release lanterns inscribed with the name of the deceased - ancestors and recent alike - into the ocean (in Japan it was into the rivers where they floated downstream to the ocean).
Below you will read my impressions of one of those nights.
In a point of "form" - there's a style of Japanese literature, Haibun, where one "sprinkes haiku" within journalistic prose. That explains why it looks like I tried to sneak in some poetry on the coattails of my prose. As Cap said, "Dash the rules!"
Nearby in the dark, a temple’s gong sounds out and fades. From the rise of a small hill, hundreds of dimly lit windows outline a sleepy village. Songs of planting rice and rich harvests linger in the night air. Another temple bell sounds from further off – perhaps on another hill.
A sea-scented breeze wafts in from the direction of the village and the scene shifts and rolls. The lights from the windows waver and all the houses lined up on a distant street appear to lift up from their foundations and then are carried into the center of town on a dense swath of small white flowers. A few houses are swallowed by the moving wall of night blossoms and with a sigh, surrender into the fold.
The rest of the village bobs up and down in turn as the mass of flowers and drifting shacks wash by. A chant and another toll of a temple bell mark the approach of newcomers. Lamps from a caravan of dozens of new folk approach from the over the rise of the rolling hill and set up camp on the outskirts of the rippling village. The new fires flicker and add to the constellation of lights that are at spread out and yet huddled together.
A flash from a nearby camera instantly and mercilessly destroys the illusion. Hundreds of floating lanterns nestled among sea foam reflect back the cold, harsh magnesium flare. Then, another flash from another camera. Hushed voices and giggling from twilight silhouettes reveal a crowd on the beach releasing more lanterns into the ocean during an O-Bon festival.
There are names on the lanterns to honor and respect their family – some lost generations ago along with the images of their faces, and some whose names are still found frequently on the tongues of the family that were just here – dancing and laughing with them at last year’s festival.
Back in the surf, some lanterns keep close to shore, because they are to new to death and crave life. There are others that linger still, because even though their families try to send them off, they hesitate – knowing of their daughter with the drug problem, or their father struggling to make ends meet. Two lanterns head out together to sea playfully tapping against each other, perhaps grandmother and grandfather finally together again. And there! There two cling together… a young departed daughter of the distant past growing up in the ethereal world who has tonight finally met her soul mate, also taken in his youth, lost on the shores of a recent foreign war. But many lanterns rush out to sea, happy to be rid of their bounds for a night, knowing that they can never be truly released from this cycle.
As the land meets the ocean, the Living meet the Dead and mingle and renew an unspoken covenant. As long as we remember those who came before us, they will watch over us. And when we meet and officially recognize this bond, we insure the future: their future and ours. As our flames burn out naturally over time or are accidentally extinguished, our progeny will light a candle in remembrance; they will sing our songs for us and dance our dances for us.
In the summer night
Lanterns bob in the ocean
Our souls burn again