Wikipedia states:
"Obon (お盆) or just Bon (盆) is a Japanese Buddhist custom to honor the departed (deceased) spirits of one's ancestors. This Buddhist custom has evolved into a family reunion holiday during which people return to ancestral family places and visit and clean their ancestors' graves, and when the spirits of ancestors are supposed to revisit the household altars. It has been celebrated in Japan for more than 500 years and traditionally includes a dance, known as Bon-Odori."
In our town, rather than a three to seven day event which it traditionally is in Japan, it is held on one Sunday usually mid-July. With Obon usually falling on the weekend of my daughter's birthday (just turned three years old), we put off her birthday party to the week following and myself, my husband and M make the trip to my hometown to take part in the Obon. With most of her cousins and her hometown cousins also gathering, it is our once a year chance to all meet up and I do believe that my daughters biggest happiness is being within her tribe.
Around noon, we head to... the cemetery. Each family visits the gravestones of their ancestors, cleaning the headstones, bringing fresh flowers from their own gardens and then lighting and bestowing incense at the foot of the grave. Incense is used as a symbol to purify the surroundings. For me, because I only ever smell it at these ceremonies, the gentle spiced fragrance of woody anise scent always brings my heart and spirit home to family, to anchor me to the moment of tradition, ceremony, honour, respect for this lineage. Our visit there is a mix of wonderful flashbacks to when I was a child, and an overflowing happiness seeing my daughter and her cousins learning this tradition the same way we all did.I will forever remember my paternal grandmother knelt so neatly, ceremoniously cleaning the grave of her husband, my grandfather who I never had the chance to know. She now lays to rest beside him and it is my aunts, father and uncle and cousins who uphold the resting place of their parents and grand-parents with love and remembrance. Brilliant stories of our combined past dance around with her memory and she is there, they are all there with us. It is quite powerful.
This year, nineteen of us, of three generations, gather for my grandmother and grandfather and the rest of our ancestors. Myself and my cousins, all grown up with children of our own. Where once we would chase in between the gravestones, now second-cousins run from us as we holler whatever we can to scare the bejessus out of them from stepping on faces of the graves.
The ceremony is a bit odd from the perspective of North Americans. The likeness of a day dedicated to the deceased, to spirits gone and revisiting the living, is of course, Halloween - spooky, creepy, dark graveyards etc. But for us and this occassion, it is the opposite. We call upon our ancestors to visit us, to connect again with their love and to honour them. "This is not a time for sadness as such, but a time to reflect on our own lives and respect those who have gone. It is a reminder to be a part of the community and not be selfish with our wants and needs." (Tokyotopia). We go to the graveyard and children run laughing, just being children, bringing light and hope to the sadness of death, that life continues and never ends because we carry things forward.
After tending to the grave-sites, all families gather at one place. Reverend Yasuhiro Miyakawa and his assistants set up an alter and he begins his service. A guest minister from Los Angeles attends as well, a gentle smile resonates within him. Reverend Miyakawa speaks about each of us living one life, no dress-rehearsals. We live each moment fully and remember where we come from. Our history, our lineage. He spoke about Buddha and how he was just a man who's family, friends, disciples carried forward the stories of his life. Now, 2500 years later, the stories remain. We are meant to carry forward the stories of our ancestors to honour them to make our own lives better. I like his service. It sticks with me, especially looking to the future of what I hope M will carry on with her.
Reverend Miyakawa chimes a beautiful, clear bell, and he and the guest reverend commence the Buddhist chants. It is hypnotic, ethereal, grounding. It opens something in a person's heart. M asks, "Why are they so loud Momma?" I take her aside and explain what the ceremony is about. When they are done the chanting, Reverend Miyakawa and each person after follows - bowing to the shrine, taking a pinch of ...something (ha ha!)... and putting it in another little pot, then stepping back again and bowing. Some use the Buddhist beads wrapped around their hands.
It is our turn now. I take my daughter's hand and we step up together with my husband. She puts her little hands together and tilts her forehead down. We step forward and she solemnly pinches the grainy sand in her fingers and places it in the bowl to the left. Incense wafts over the three of us. We step back and forgetting this is a Buddhist ceremony, she gives her greatest ballet diva bow taking a deep breath, standing up tall, then folding down her little upper body, rolling from her hips to her head which snaps like a little whip, then holds for a second with her tummy folded over her left hand... good grief! I'm so in love. Very dramatic. Her ancestors would be snickering and proud (there was that streak in our family).
So that is that part of the day. Next up the elders go to the Buddhist church for another service. I have never gone to one of these. Maybe one day when M is older, I will take her for both of us to learn more about this religion.
Later that day, around seven o'clock, we pull out some traditional wardrobe. Men and boys get out their Hapi coats (short kimono-style coats *the man in this photo is not wearing one). Women and little girls put on their yukata (summer kimonos), the ones that intend to dance anyways (I haven't worn one in years!). M chooses her pink yukata. It is huge, and because there is no way I could get her latched in to her carseat with it on, I decide to dress her in the parking lot of the church hall where the odori is to be held.
Back in the day, we would head down to the parking lot of a car dealership where they would empty out the cars and string up paper lanterns and build a tower for the huge taiko drum. As the sun would set in the hot, dry summers, we would dance to the same old songs we still dance too now - scratchy recordings of very traditional Japanese music. Fourteen cousins munching on our Mr. Freezie treats, following after our Grand-mother like little ducklings. The deep and resonating guttural boom of the drums, high-pitched flutes, men, women and little children singing. Obon odori - the dancing portion of the festival is comprised of a selection of songs that, in Japan, are usually specific to the geographic region and represent various stories - coal mining, cherry blossoms, fishing etc. But here in Canada, there are songs from all over Japan that are represented. I think I first started learning them when I was younger than eight or nine, I believe. They are always a series of simple, deliberate but delicate moves that represent actions or stories that are repeated. The dancers travel in a circle, which is fantastic because you just follow whomever in front of you knows the steps! The steps always come back, at least by the end of the song anyways.
I can only compare me dressing my daughter in the back seat of the car, to hog-tying a thirty five pound munchkin. We wrestled, we argued. But when she got out, she was the cutest thing with her hair pinned in an up-do. We hopped inside the hall and M found her grandpa in the dancing circle. My little M followed her grandpa in the circle, my heart melted like a puddle on the floor... How do the generations, lifetimes pass so quickly? There is an art to tying even the more simple yukatas. I don't have it down in the best of circumstances, I'm sad to say. Her dress began to unwind and an elder woman stepped out grabbing her and wrestled around with her dress to shorten it up. That is community and I love it.
As quickly as her little yukata again began to fall apart, so did my little girl. It was time to go. She darn near clawed her way back in to the dance circle as we tore her out of there but we had a three hour drive to make. It was time.
North America. Even though I am three and four generations a Canadian, I sometimes feel... on the outside, especially being a visible minority. When I go to Japan, I certainly do not fit in as I can't speak the language, I am not dainty to the refinement of femininity there. I actually look people in the eye - gasp! But this one day is plain and simple, a part of who I am, a tradition that I would like for my daughter to make a part of who she is.
This festival is an opportunity to honour my grandmother and grandfather, alongside all those who came before us, my great-grandmother who passed away over a decade ago at the age of one hundred and four. She has a very special place in my heart. Her husband, my great-grandfather, I also never had the chance to know. But through stories, I have come to know him as a very wise, refined man who many came to for advice. All those who came before me, who faced life boldly and made our lives better for it - making sacrifices to leave what they knew, their homeland and loved ones, losing their livelihoods and all possessions all over again in their new home, and building entire lives back from scratch - all for opportunity that myself and my daughter now have the potential to sow.
We have much to learn from, to appreciate and to share. Community is necessary in life - wherever you go, especially when younger generations are to be minded.
Who are you from? :)
* Growing up as a Japanese-Canadian, I was raised in a household where my maternal grandmother was a devout Christian. My paternal grandmother was a devout Buddhist. For a portion of time went with my grandmother to church and Sunday school. We celebrated New Years with Japanese/Buddhist family traditions and in the summer took part in the Obon. My parents had a deep respect for their parents beliefs, but also encouraged us, their children, to find our own beliefs in the world through raising us to be open-minded and respectful of all religions and diversities.
It was my maternal grandfather who best articulated my beliefs: He used the analogy of all climbing one mountain. We all strive for the top in our lifetimes. Sometimes we take a more established and populated path with others (religious paths). Sometimes we make our own paths (independent spirituality), but we are all striving for the same summit. Whatever our path , we help each other up when we have hard times or struggle. We are all going to the same place - right or wrong, in my eyes, it is an enlightenment, a shared freedom of all things living, an unbound energy that is Life, everything in its purest most potent form. The more we help each other and bring each other up, rather than trying to disprove ways of doing things, the more we progress as a whole and as an individual. The more we learn about the struggles and successes of others, the more we can move forward as well - not having to reinvent the wheel as some might say.
**Photos purchased from iStock & Dreamstime Photo stock
No comments:
Post a Comment