Obon: The Day of the Dead

I was raised in an Anglican family. My parents loved the rituals, ceremonies and prayers of that expression of Christianity. So, in my home we had a small altar, said formal prayers throughout the day, and went to church regularly. My parents always stressed that God came first and everything else fell into place from that center point of divinity. Even though I have since stepped out of the outer structure of that faith, I find profound meaning in the hidden and universal symbolism of my religious upbringing.

My mother died long ago and since then my father has moved more deeply into his Christian life, with an influential swing into Buddhism for a while. He knows every feast and fasting day and adheres to them strictly. He maintains Christian traditions in lovely ways, knows where they come from and why. In other words, he has not cut the roots of the spiritual dimension of his faith, as so much of our present-day secularized culture has.

Of course, he lights candles in his windows at Christmas, not for decoration, but in order to invite the holy family into his humble heart and home. When I was there in February he did the same and told me that that time it was to guide the souls of the departed in case they were lost on those cold, dark winter nights.

All Saints and All Souls Day are on November first and second respectively. That is when the spirits of the deceased return to earth, enabling us to communicate with them more closely, to honor them, and to receive their blessings. These holy days are meant to usher in the souls of good spirits only. And that is why the day before, Halloween, has witches and ghosts and goblins. They are the shadow side of pure goodness, which of course needs its expression, too. Even though this festival is very old, we now know that having a special time set aside for evil to be recognized, contained, and directed is very a sound psychological practice.

Mexico’s renowned Day of the Dead, Dios de los Muertos, occurs at the same time. Probably those November days, between autumn and winter, were selected because they represent the teetering edge between life and death.

Every country and religion has ways to honor the deceased. In Asia that custom is very strong. Here in Japan it is called Obon and takes place in mid-August. Japanese blend the cycles of life more easily than westerners tend to. Plus they are very practically minded. So, Obon occurs in mid-summer when the paddies are vibrant green and fields are bursting with produce. This is a poignant reminder that in life there is death, yet also that death is always accompanied by abundant life. The two cannot be separated.

And for practical reasons mid-August is a time when farmers are a bit less busy. At that time there is a hiatus between planting and harvesting. Plus the rainy season has stopped and the rigors of winter are in the distant future.

Actually, Obon is a marvelous time for families to come together and solidify their bonds. In times past members lived very closely, but now they are often scattered far and wide. So, Obon is an important opportunity to make connections again.

People go to graves, of course, and adorn them with flowers and fruits, vegetables and cakes. They offer huge bottles of sake, light candles, and burn incense. So, graveyards become colorful, bright, and even lively.

In their homes people eat and drink, not for themselves, but for their ancestors. The Japanese know they are always dependent on others, and feel a life-long debt to those who have raised, supported, or given them help. So, these three days are an emptying of one’s own ego in order to pay homage to those who came before.

During Obon season transport is packed, shops close, streets become quiet. Even young people, who often shun Japanese traditional customs, are drawn to their family graves. Once during that time I was waiting to board a train and was standing behind a young lad with orange hair, purple jeans, a light green shirt with dragons, a thick silver chain belt, and tattoos. I love to chat with people, so asked him where he was going. He told me his deceased grandfather had come from that town, and even though he lived in Tokyo, he had gotten up before dawn and had taken the earliest, fastest train possible to visit has grandfather’s grave. He had wanted to pray and offer thanks before heading back to his wild life in the big city.

He then said, pointing to his heart, “I couldn’t have done otherwise. My ancestors are the center of me. I would not be who I am without them. So, of course, I make this trek every year to thank those who gave me life and who paved the way for me.”

I was deeply moved by his attitude and actions. I thought about my own family practices and realized they we’re similar, but also a bit different. In my tradition the focus is more on praying for the deceased’s spiritual purification. In Mexico it is for sharing happy memories with family members. And here in Japan it is more a time of expressing gratitude. But in whatever way, this worldwide custom lifts the veil between our world and the next, albeit briefly, allowing a time of reflection concerning the greatest mystery of all, that of life and death.