The bell crickets have started to sing, and the cicadas’ voices are fading away. The geothermal heat in the mornings and evenings is gradually easing. Perhaps this is a sign that summer is coming to an end.
When this time of year comes around, I personally feel a tightness in my chest. Koshien is over, and so is summer. But it’s not just a simple sense of nostalgia. I think these emotions, which coincide with the Obon period, are combined with a desire to remember people.
This year’s Obon was hotter than usual, and I also felt a strong sense of longing for those who have passed away. I’m sure there are others like me.
I went to visit the grave and poured water on the tombstone in the scorching heat, but the wet surface dried quickly. I lit the incense, and after running down the stone ceiling, the smoke rose straight up. I just stared at it, not really thinking anything of it. I realized that visiting the grave is more than just a ritual. That said, it’s not a grand ceremony. Even though we say it’s for the deceased, in the end it’s a time to face myself. It’s also a time when I want support for the conclusions I’ve come to, the conclusions I know I have.
I lost a classmate in the summer, and when the weather gets hot, I remember the fun days we had. We held competitions to see who could make the dumbbells look the heaviest, and competitions to run the jointer, and both times we were severely scolded by our coach…even though we were just joking around. Eating ice cream on the way home. (Is there anything else?) It should be a distant memory, but the taste and coldness of the ice cream are still vivid.
I’ve celebrated Obon many times, and it’s this time of year every year. Nostalgic smells and festivals, the laughter of the cicadas’ chorus, the dust from a sudden shower that makes me feel the sports field, or rather, I’m seeking their presence.
In science and medicine, these things might be called “illusions,” but for some reason I find myself recalling those days and believing in their existence. The end of summer reminds us that the happy days are over, while Obon is a cruel reminder that loved ones are no longer with us. In other words, when these two lonelinesses combine, as I mentioned earlier, my heart tightens quite a bit.
But I’d like to think that it’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Loneliness reminds us of how important someone was to us, and it serves as proof that that summer, that experience, that person were all wonderful.
They often describe dusk as crimson-colored clouds, and sometimes the timing of their appearance, when these not-too-vivid colors appear, can seem like a message: “You may be anxious, but try to stay strong.”
I’m sure there will be people this year and next who can empathize with the end of summer and the loneliness, and if I find such a person… I would be upset if emotions born from so many memories were described as “illusions.”
I want to help you confront these scientifically-based expressions using the words of a psychiatrist, and then chant Nam-myoho-renge-kyo together.
“After death, we continue to live through the love we give and the love we receive.” Elisabeth Kubler-Ross