It’s a slow summer in the suburbs of the city. I contemplated taking the mask everywhere, but I tend to carry bags far too small to fit more than the staples. Friends from the city came to me, and we attended an obon festival.
Japanese folk dancing to Taiko drumming tuned the sunset and turned on lanterns. I found it a simple but very fulfilling festival with booths and a dance area with a yagura, or raised stage, in the middle. The festival, to try and sum it up, is a celebration and remembrance of the good will and sacrifices of ancestors. One can learn more about the story of the festival here.
Dancing around the yagura were people young and old, some learning and others wise to the melodies. I found learning the dances to be a strugglebus, but enjoyable nevertheless. I entered the temple and bowed more meaningful bows. I spoke with strangers and saw diversity in mixed faces.
I enjoyed it.
All I have left are pictures and memories:
And so you wonder what I’ve been doing the past 8 months, since as far as anyone’s concerned I put a hiatus to my existence. I should reflect, but I’m also moving forward.