It’s a Saturday afternoon and I’m deep in Pālolo Valley learning how to breathe. About 10 of us are gathered in a room at Mu-Ryang-Sa Temple for a session on vipassanā meditation. Leading the class is a slight, bald man by the name of Gregory Pai. He has been the temple’s resident meditation instructor for a decade. He sits with his back straight, eyes closed. If inner peace exists, I’m sure this man has found it.
Pai begins by striking a tuning fork against the ground. Its tinny note centers our focus. “Feel the sensation of your breath in your body,” he says as we draw in air. “Use it as an object to ground you.” His measured tone guides us deeper into the calm. A soft breeze filters through the doors. Incense sweetens the air.
Once dismissed as a hokey New Age notion, meditation’s popularity has experienced a recent rise with digital upgrades and the self-care movement making it appealing to millenials. Mindfulness gurus liken its effects to other buzzy wellness methods like crystal healing and digital detoxes. But at Mu-Ryang-Sa, meditation isn’t just another trend—it is a practice steeped in the history of Buddhism. And as I sit cross-legged surrounded by sacred regalia, I feel the weight of centuries of culture.
It’s an experience that I thought required traveling—perhaps to a monestary atop Nepal’s misty peaks or to ruins deep in the Burmese jungle. But the authentic does not always have to be exotic. An Eat, Pray, Love journey to spiritual self-discovery can be found right here in Hawaiʻi.
Buddhism was brought to the Hawaiian Islands in the late 1800s with the wave of Asian immigrants coming to work in Hawaiʻi’s sugarcane plantations. The first temples were just single-story, wooden structures built within the plantations. Some, like the Honpa Hongwanji Mission along Pali Highway which is more than 100 years old, are still in operation today. Over the years, as the religion’s popularity grew, so did its temples.
Mu-Ryang-Sa’s sprawling estate is the largest Korean Buddhist temple outside of Korea. Ensconced at the end of a winding, climbing drive, the temple boasts a view of the lush valley below. Through its gate, which is guarded by the towering statues of the Four Heavenly Kings, the tummult of town life dissipates. As one of the lesser known temples on Oʻahu, Mu-Ryang-Sa is often devoid of crowds. One can roam its picturesque courtyard and intricately decorated halls in solitude.
For visitors hesitant about meditation sessions, insight can still be garnered from the temple’s unique architecture. After exceeding Honolulu City and County height limits, its ridge, meant to be pointed in the typical Buddhist style, had to be leveled. Soon after, it was renamed Mu-Ryang-Sa, which roughly translates to Broken Ridge Temple.
It’s an anecdote taken directly from Buddha’s teachings, says Do-Hyun, Mu-Ryang-Sa’s abbot. “Buddha teaches that in order to reach the true heights of enlightenment, we must shatter our own structures of ignorance,” he says. “Much like the shattering of our temple’s ridge.”
On a summer afternoon, crowds flock to another Oʻahu temple. Tucked at the foot of the Koʻolau mountain range, Byodo-In, a nondemonimational Buddhist temple, is one of Hawaiʻi’s most popular sites. On an average day, hundreds of visitors tour the temple grounds. And tonight is no exception, as it is the eve of Obon, a Buddhist festival celebrating the return of ancestors from the spirit world.
A string of glowing lanterns light the bridge at the temple’s entrance. Stands lined across the courtyard offer good luck charms and fried snacks. Attendees dance to the beat of taiko drums. Other visitors stroll its meandering pathways, hoping for a chance encounter with the temple’s resident black swans or possibly even its elusive peacock. Alcoves beckon them to explore off the beaten path, like the corner behind the temple that hides a miniature waterfull emptying fresh mountain water into a koi pond.
Byodo-In was built in 1968 within the Valley of the Temples, a memorial park home to various other theologies, in commemoration of the 100-year anniversary of the first Japanese immigrants’ arrival in Hawaiʻi. From its bell house to the main structure housing the nine-foot Buddha statue, it is a small-scale replica of a temple in Uji, Japan. In 2018, the temple celebrated its 50th anniversary. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, dozens of attendees placed lanterns on the waterway that winds through the grounds. Their flames illuminated the water as they floated around the temple. Amid dusk’s waning light, Byodo-In appeared to be ablaze.
Nestled on the leeward side of the Koʻolau mountain range is Daijingu Temple. Humble in appearance, Daijingu is one of Hawaiʻi’s oldest temples. Established in the 1900s, the temple has remained a stronghold for Hawaiʻi’s Shinto practitioners even through tumultuous times. During the Second World War, as people of Japanese ancestry were forcibly interned, Daijingu’s original temple was seized and auctioned off by the U.S. government. But according to the temple’s reverend, Akihiro Okada, the faith of the monks was never shaken. After the war ended, they rebuilt the temple in Nuʻuanu Valley, where it stands today.
Within the local community, the temple has garnered a devoted following. Residents flock to its grounds during the holiday season when the temple provides blessings for the new year. Luck is something in which Daijingu specializes. Its tables and shelves are lined with omamori, or amulets, for everything from having a lucky love life to blessing a new car. During hatsumode, the first shrine visit of the new year, visitors shed a year’s worth of bad luck through a purification ceremony.
“It is very important to be mindful,” Okada says. “If they miss the purification, they must wait one whole year until the next one. Then it is double the bad luck!”
Some may dismiss the temples’ beliefs as mysticism, but within their walls, it is hard not to indulge. As I bid farewell to Okada, he stops me to ask if he can give me a blessing. I nod yes and watch wide-eyed as he wields his onusa wand to cleanse me of my bad luck. His chants flow into one another until they become a collective hum. It ends as suddenly as it began. I walk away lighter in spirit and, hopefully, better in luck.
Buddhism was brought to the Hawaiian Islands in the late 1800s with the wave of Asian immigrants coming to work at sugarcane plantations.
Tokens of good fortune located around the grounds.
The anticipation of spiritual renewal draws visitors to Hawai‘i’s Buddhist temples each new year.
Byodo-In Temple on O‘ahu’s windward side is a small-scale replica of a 950-year-old temple in Uji, Japan that has been designated a United Nations World Heritage Site.
Luck is a subject in which Daijingu, a temple on the leeward side, specializes.
At Shinto shrines, visitors divine their luck by drawing omikuji, or randomly drawn fortunes written on pieces of paper, and secure it by buying omamori, or good-luck amulets.
Mu-Ryang-Sa, the largest Korean Buddhist temple outside of Korea, is nestled in lush Pālolo Valley.
Mu-Ryang-Sa is often devoid of crowds. One can roam its picturesque courtyard and intricately decorated halls in solitude.
“Buddha teaches that in order to reach the true heights of enlightenment, we must shatter our own structures of ignorance.”
— Dohyun Gwon, abbot of Mu-Ryang-Sa
It’s a Saturday afternoon and I’m deep in Pālolo Valley learning how to breathe. About 10 of us are gathered in a room at Mu-Ryang-Sa Temple for a session on vipassanā meditation. Leading the class is a slight, bald man by the name of Gregory Pai. He has been the temple’s resident meditation instructor for a decade. He sits with his back straight, eyes closed. If inner peace exists, I’m sure this man has found it.
Pai begins by striking a tuning fork against the ground. Its tinny note centers our focus. “Feel the sensation of your breath in your body,” he says as we draw in air. “Use it as an object to ground you.” His measured tone guides us deeper into the calm. A soft breeze filters through the doors. Incense sweetens the air.
Once dismissed as a hokey New Age notion, meditation’s popularity has experienced a recent rise with digital upgrades and the self-care movement making it appealing to millenials. Mindfulness gurus liken its effects to other buzzy wellness methods like crystal healing and digital detoxes. But at Mu-Ryang-Sa, meditation isn’t just another trend—it is a practice steeped in the history of Buddhism. And as I sit cross-legged surrounded by sacred regalia, I feel the weight of centuries of culture.
It’s an experience that I thought required traveling—perhaps to a monestary atop Nepal’s misty peaks or to ruins deep in the Burmese jungle. But the authentic does not always have to be exotic. An Eat, Pray, Love journey to spiritual self-discovery can be found right here in Hawaiʻi.
Buddhism was brought to the Hawaiian Islands in the late 1800s with the wave of Asian immigrants coming to work in Hawaiʻi’s sugarcane plantations. The first temples were just single-story, wooden structures built within the plantations. Some, like the Honpa Hongwanji Mission along Pali Highway which is more than 100 years old, are still in operation today. Over the years, as the religion’s popularity grew, so did its temples.
Mu-Ryang-Sa’s sprawling estate is the largest Korean Buddhist temple outside of Korea. Ensconced at the end of a winding, climbing drive, the temple boasts a view of the lush valley below. Through its gate, which is guarded by the towering statues of the Four Heavenly Kings, the tummult of town life dissipates. As one of the lesser known temples on Oʻahu, Mu-Ryang-Sa is often devoid of crowds. One can roam its picturesque courtyard and intricately decorated halls in solitude.
For visitors hesitant about meditation sessions, insight can still be garnered from the temple’s unique architecture. After exceeding Honolulu City and County height limits, its ridge, meant to be pointed in the typical Buddhist style, had to be leveled. Soon after, it was renamed Mu-Ryang-Sa, which roughly translates to Broken Ridge Temple.
It’s an anecdote taken directly from Buddha’s teachings, says Do-Hyun, Mu-Ryang-Sa’s abbot. “Buddha teaches that in order to reach the true heights of enlightenment, we must shatter our own structures of ignorance,” he says. “Much like the shattering of our temple’s ridge.”
On a summer afternoon, crowds flock to another Oʻahu temple. Tucked at the foot of the Koʻolau mountain range, Byodo-In, a nondemonimational Buddhist temple, is one of Hawaiʻi’s most popular sites. On an average day, hundreds of visitors tour the temple grounds. And tonight is no exception, as it is the eve of Obon, a Buddhist festival celebrating the return of ancestors from the spirit world.
A string of glowing lanterns light the bridge at the temple’s entrance. Stands lined across the courtyard offer good luck charms and fried snacks. Attendees dance to the beat of taiko drums. Other visitors stroll its meandering pathways, hoping for a chance encounter with the temple’s resident black swans or possibly even its elusive peacock. Alcoves beckon them to explore off the beaten path, like the corner behind the temple that hides a miniature waterfull emptying fresh mountain water into a koi pond.
Byodo-In was built in 1968 within the Valley of the Temples, a memorial park home to various other theologies, in commemoration of the 100-year anniversary of the first Japanese immigrants’ arrival in Hawaiʻi. From its bell house to the main structure housing the nine-foot Buddha statue, it is a small-scale replica of a temple in Uji, Japan. In 2018, the temple celebrated its 50th anniversary. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, dozens of attendees placed lanterns on the waterway that winds through the grounds. Their flames illuminated the water as they floated around the temple. Amid dusk’s waning light, Byodo-In appeared to be ablaze.
Nestled on the leeward side of the Koʻolau mountain range is Daijingu Temple. Humble in appearance, Daijingu is one of Hawaiʻi’s oldest temples. Established in the 1900s, the temple has remained a stronghold for Hawaiʻi’s Shinto practitioners even through tumultuous times. During the Second World War, as people of Japanese ancestry were forcibly interned, Daijingu’s original temple was seized and auctioned off by the U.S. government. But according to the temple’s reverend, Akihiro Okada, the faith of the monks was never shaken. After the war ended, they rebuilt the temple in Nuʻuanu Valley, where it stands today.
Within the local community, the temple has garnered a devoted following. Residents flock to its grounds during the holiday season when the temple provides blessings for the new year. Luck is something in which Daijingu specializes. Its tables and shelves are lined with omamori, or amulets, for everything from having a lucky love life to blessing a new car. During hatsumode, the first shrine visit of the new year, visitors shed a year’s worth of bad luck through a purification ceremony.
“It is very important to be mindful,” Okada says. “If they miss the purification, they must wait one whole year until the next one. Then it is double the bad luck!”
Some may dismiss the temples’ beliefs as mysticism, but within their walls, it is hard not to indulge. As I bid farewell to Okada, he stops me to ask if he can give me a blessing. I nod yes and watch wide-eyed as he wields his onusa wand to cleanse me of my bad luck. His chants flow into one another until they become a collective hum. It ends as suddenly as it began. I walk away lighter in spirit and, hopefully, better in luck.
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