The festival of “Gozan no Okuribi” will light up the Kyoto night on August 16th. It begins at 8 PM, when five characters – the “daimonji,” “myōhō,” “funagata,” “hidari daimonji,” and “toriigata” – are lit across five mountainsides.

Just what is Obon in the first place? It originates from the Chinese “Urabon” feast of lanterns. Looking further back in time to ancient India leads to the Sanskrit word “Ullanbana,” which means “hanging down.” The next story is related to this word.

Once upon a time there was a man whose devoted Buddhist asceticism earned him divine powers. He learned that his departed mother was starving and hanging upside-down in Hell. Why did his kindly mother meet such a fate? It was because, out of love for her son, she had given most of the food meant for the ascetic monks to him and him alone. The man resolved to use his powers to rescue his mother, but failed. Vexed, he asked Buddha for advice. And Buddha advised: “You must want to save all people, not just your own mother.” He then taught the man the way to save his mother: making offerings, including food, to the ascetic monks after their summertime devotions. And true to his word, the man’s mother was saved.

The moral of this story is to never be selfish. The origin of Obon begins with the notion of being kind to all human beings.

Thus, together with Buddhism, Obon was introduced to Japan as a custom of helping those of us hanging from the rope of suffering. Because Japan already had a tradition of enshrining familial ancestors since antiquity, the Obon tradition blended with this culture, resulting in a uniquely Japanese custom that began with ascetic monks and the nobility. Before long, it had spread to the warrior castes, and finally to the ordinary people by the Edo Period.

Edo Period culture dictated that a child would leave his family home to work and pursue an apprenticeship. Although they worked without rest, Obon was the one time where they were allowed to return home. It was the same for women, who left their family homes through marriage. Everyone looked forward to Obon.

Once the family was gathered in full, the ancestors also entered the home. That’s why Obon begins with a “Mukaebi,” a welcome fire. The flames guide their spirits home, lest they get lost on their way back to our world from the great beyond. They are invited and received at their homes, and the family makes offerings in their name. Then, at the end of Obon, the “Okuribi,” or sendoff fire, is lit to see the spirits back to the world beyond death.

Gozan no Okuribi is the rite that best represents the Obon tradition. Bonfires are lit on five mountains from east to west, supposedly to guide spirits westward, in the direction of the afterlife. However, sendoff fires used to be lit at temples in each region instead. The fires were lit in the shape of different kanji characters, like the number “one,” “snake,” “bell,” “spear,” and others.

Kyoto’s residents quietly think of their departed relatives as they see them off with the bonfires. It is the only day where Kyoto changes into a space where the living and the spirits of their departed ancestors converge upon its streets; it remains so now, as it was before.

Now, when we say “ancestors,” what do we mean? Try to imagine your own ancestors. Your parents, grandparents, even your great-grandparents. Imagine looking back to your ancestors ten generations ago – how many do you think you’ll find?

The answer is 1,024. Look twenty generations back, and you’ll find over a million. If even one of those people did not exist, neither would you. You are, in a very real sense, standing on the backs of your forefathers. Gratitude for those who give you life is the way to honor and connect to them.

Maybe you do not need to think too deeply – you may have experienced the kind of loss that tore through you, that can only be healed by seeing this person again, if only for one day. Obon, perhaps, is the once-yearly manifestation of our honest wish.

The people of Kyoto say that, as the blazing fires fade, they feel a lingering echo of loneliness – their family is gone once more. Once the last flames of the Gozan no Okuribi fade and the light disappears, what will you feel in that moment?