Ichi-go Ichi-e: the Impermanence of Everything.

It’s over ten hours of air travel from Haneda to Los Angeles International Airport. As soon as I turned my phone back on when we landed last Wednesday, the incessant dinging let me know that something had happened. My lazy exhaustion was taken over by an alert attention.

“We’ll be back soon!” That’s how we said good-bye to our friends in Maui last May. But the Lahaina Jodo Mission that we visited for a week then, has now burnt down to the grounds with the Maui wild fires last week. Everyone has evacuated safely, but the temple built in 1912 with all of its history and artifacts have turned into smoke and ashes, never to be seen again.

We chanted there together, smelled the incents and bowed our heads down together in our prayers. The time and space that bonded us then, now preoccupies me with the desire to do something for them. (Please consider making a donation to Lahaina Jodo Mission.)

That trip to Maui last year was a bit of a squeeze. I flew the morning after a big concert in LA, not knowing what to expect. But now, I am so grateful that I took the time and the chance to go. That temple, and the campus, the beauty of the Maui Island, the history of the Japanese-Americans in Lahaina, and the hospitality we received during our stay there – that is a part of me now. For as long as I live, it will be a part of everything I generate.

The photos from Maui also reminds me how we will be experiencing more and more of these natural disasters now with our climate crisis. How can we learn to prioritize compassion over self-protection, dignity and decency over anxiety, and perspective over myopia collectively, and sustainably? How can we support each other to ensure our humanity to remain intact? What role can I play as a musician in that process?