“What an unforgettable place.” That’s what I kept thinking as I left Ōbai-in Temple. Visiting Obai-in temple in Kyoto, this sub-temple tucked within Kyoto’s Daitoku-ji complex felt like stepping into a time capsule. Open only twice a year during spring and autumn, Ōbai-in has an air of quiet exclusivity, where history and serenity blend seamlessly.
Visiting Obai-in temple in Kyoto
I arrived at Daitoku-ji on an overcast afternoon. The temple complex was peaceful, with only a handful of visitors walking the narrow paths. As I approached Ōbai-in, its moss-covered entry garden came into view, framed by maples just beginning to turn. The simplicity of the scene was disarming; no grand gestures, just quiet beauty that seemed to invite you in.
The outer gate, worn yet dignified, stood as a threshold between the ordinary and the profound. I lingered, letting the stillness sink in before stepping through.
Discovering the Temple Grounds
Hondō: A Living Artifact
The Hondō, or main hall, has stood since 1588. Its hip-and-gable roof felt timeless, weathered but resolute – until all tiles were replaced with new, shiny ones. Inside, I found replicas of Unkoku Tōgan’s fusuma-e paintings. Though I had read about them beforehand, seeing the scenes up close was something else. The Seven Wise Men in a Bamboo Grove stood out, its understated monochrome strokes conveying depth without excess.
The temple’s rooms each felt purposeful. The Shicchu and Butsuma had an austere elegance, their simplicity leaving space for thought rather than demanding attention. It’s a kind of architecture that works quietly but profoundly on you.
Jikyū-ken: Space to Reflect
The study hall, Jikyū-ken, was a favorite of mine. Its name loosely translates to “self and rest,” and that’s exactly what it offered. Imagine sitting by the wooden desk, how the monks who had once used this space, by each stroke of the brush carrying their contemplation onto the page. There was no need to rush here—only to observe and absorb.
The Gardens: Zen in Every Detail
Jikichū-tei: Moss and Stone in Harmony
The heart of Ōbai-in is its central garden, Jikichū-tei. Designed by Sen no Rikyū, it’s a place of subtle power. The gourd-shaped pond reflected the muted sky, while three large stones symbolized Fudō Myōō, the Buddhist deity. Every detail felt deliberate, yet nothing was ostentatious. It’s the kind of garden that makes you slow down without realizing it.
Hatō-tei: Stillness in Abstraction
Hatō-tei, the dry landscape garden, was a sea of gravel punctuated by moss and rock. I learned from one of the monks that its stones could symbolize different Buddhist figures, depending on your perspective. This layering of meaning added a quiet complexity to what might otherwise seem simple.
A Moment to Remember
At the end of my visit, I received a go-shuin from the head priest. He took his time, carefully inscribing the temple’s stamp and a proverb: ‘Ichi-go ichi-e—“This moment will never come again.” It was a fitting conclusion, a reminder to hold onto the fleeting experiences that shape us.
Practical Tips for Your Visit
Opening Times: Spring and autumn; check our page for more information and a map.
Admission: 800 Yen
Getting There:
Bus: Routes 205 or 206 to Daitoku-ji stop.
Subway: A 15-minute walk west from Kitaō-ji Station (Karasuma line).
Photography: Permitted only in designated areas, like the entry garden.
Nearby Recommendations
Closing Thoughts
Ōbai-in isn’t flashy or grand; it doesn’t need to be. Its charm lies in its restraint and the way it invites you to pause and notice. For me, the visit wasn’t just about seeing a historic site; it was about feeling the weight of time and the simplicity of the present moment. If you’re in Kyoto when its doors open, take the opportunity. It’s not something you’ll regret.
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Ōbai-in (Daitoku-ji)
Sub-temple of Daitoku-ji in Kyoto
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