26 Feb It was in Japan
It was in Japan, during my first long training stay in a Buddhist temple, that I encountered Baika chanting for the first time.
That day, in the temple courtyard perched on a mountain overlooking the village,
a small group of elderly women, each as hunched as the next, arrived in a tiny truck.
They had come to help us with the preparations for the grand ceremony.
Today, we would honor our ancestors, the Zen patriarchs, as well as the Great Teacher, Shakyamuni Buddha.
Everyone found their role. In the kitchen, aged hands with knotted fingers tirelessly shaped rice balls,
working with enthusiasm and good spirits.Others busied themselves with cleaning, while some arranged bouquets of flowers.
Some monks prepared the ceremony hall, while others continued practicing a little longer.
The time had come. The great bell rang out, and everyone made their way to the hall for the ceremony.
The monks began chanting the sutras, and I joined them. The village women stood respectfully, and we sang in unison.
Through the ceremony, the offering of incense, flowers, and lovingly prepared food, as well as our very presence,
we expressed our gratitude to those who came before us
—those who passed down life and its values.
And it didn’t matter that we didn’t speak the same language.
What we shared was something deeper—an invisible bond that naturally blossomed when we offered the best of ourselves.
Then, out of the silence,
the delicate, clear voice of a monk rose.
I searched for him with my eyes, and soon, they filled with tears.
The melody I was hearing for the first time moved me so deeply, echoing the moments we had shared throughout the day.
And from that moment on, I have practiced Baika, and it has remained close to my heart to share it.
