In the pouring rain that has been falling since morning, I made my way to the temple where I am a parishioner.
Today, the temple was set to hold a large Segaki service, a ritual for the hungry ghosts. In the midst of the coronavirus pandemic, it was difficult to conduct the Segaki service, but from this year, it seemed to be carried out on a reduced scale.
In hopes of returning, even slightly, to life before COVID-19, I decided to head to the temple with a renewed determination.
I had received a letter about the large Segaki service, but in reality, it was just a small gathering of a few monks. However, being there in person and being able to listen to the sutras chanted by the monks up close made me think of my ancestors, whom I had been neglecting, and at the same time, I felt as though my spirit was being cleansed.
The voices of the few monks echoed through the sutra hall. There were a few parishioners present. The monk's voice stopped. Despite being in the city, there was a serene silence. (In a faraway country, a war was being waged, in this uncertain world...)
The entire process went smoothly, and I went outside and headed for the cemetery. I was able to greet and place flowers at the grave of my ancestors. It was a blessing. With this, I put my own full stop to the coronavirus pandemic.
I was also able to have a short conversation with my ancestors.
"There are concerns, but I'm managing reasonably well," I told them.
I went to the temple.