By Kokoro Still
A paper lantern glows. A trail of incense floats upward. In this hush, we remember—and something returns.
Light, Smoke, and the Ones We Welcome
Obon is not just a tradition or a summer break. It’s a quiet invitation to remember.
During this time, families welcome back the spirits of their ancestors — not with fanfare, but with light and smoke.
A paper lantern hangs gently from the eaves, swaying in the evening breeze. In rooms with household altars, incense is lit, and time seems to soften.
The soft glow of the lantern and the gentle rise of incense smoke become our offerings — drawing a path that connects presence and memory.
Cucumber Horses, Eggplant Cows — and Memory
On some family altars, you might find small animals made from cucumbers and eggplants.
A cucumber becomes a spirit horse — swift and slender, to carry ancestors home quickly. An eggplant becomes a spirit cow — sturdy and slow, to return them gently with all the offerings they’ve been given.
We also offer foods they once loved — a quiet way to say, “We remember.” These figures may seem simple, but they carry deep feeling and reverence.
Light, Smoke, and the Path Between Worlds
We clean the family grave not with tools, but with care — gently removing dust, placing flowers, and lighting a lantern.
The light glows softly in the dusk. Next to it, incense is lit. Its smoke rises slowly and silently.
It sways as it ascends, drawing an invisible path into the sky.
Kokoro lives here: in the gesture of lighting a lantern, in the hush before words, in the trail of smoke that drifts upward, unbroken.
Obon is not about grand ceremonies, but about the atmosphere we create — one that allows the past and present to meet, quietly.
A Quiet Reunion, Across Time
During Obon, families return — not only ancestors, but the living as well.
Relatives arrive, greet one another, and quietly offer incense at the altar. Meals are shared in quiet tones, and laughter drifts like distant wind chimes — never disturbing the hush around the altar.
Still, there is always a pause — a quiet visit to the altar, a moment of stillness.
Obon is a reunion across generations — visible and invisible.
I remember sitting quietly next to my grandmother as she offered incense before the altar.
I didn’t fully understand what we were doing, but I mimicked her gesture — hands together, head bowed.
She said nothing — only bowed, hands pressed together in silence. And that silence taught me more than any explanation ever could.
Where Silence Remains
In a world full of noise and movement, Obon offers stillness. We don’t just honor the dead — we remember how to be present.
It’s a time when generations meet without needing to speak.
And even after the lanterns go dark, something lingers.
The smoke drifts upward into the evening sky — and with it, a softness, a presence.
And somewhere in that quiet, Kokoro still lives.
Featured image: The image was created by AI (ChatGPT)
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