This series of murals follows the Buddha’s transformation from solitary meditator to spiritual teacher.
Celestial beings gather around him, symbolizing the heavens witnessing his enlightenment. In one important scene, the deities Brahma and Indra respectfully urge him to share what he has discovered with the world. Another shows the Buddha teaching five monks in the Deer Park at Sarnath—his first sermon and the beginning of the Buddhist sangha, or monastic community.
Offerings of food and flowers represent generosity, devotion and the connection between ordinary people and monastic life. Read together, the paintings move from enlightenment to teaching: wisdom is achieved in silence, but its value lies in being shared.
Another series of murals at Wat Koh, this time illustrating episodes from the Buddha’s life and the miracles and acts of compassion associated with him.
At the center, the Buddha meditates on the coils of the nāga king Mucalinda, who sheltered him during a violent storm after his enlightenment. Another panel recalls his retreat in the forest at Pārileyyaka, where an elephant and a monkey cared for him. Elsewhere, monks, rulers, devotees and celestial beings approach him to receive teachings, make offerings or pay respect.
Together, the paintings present the Buddha as teacher, healer and peaceful presence—honored by humans, animals and beings of the heavenly realms alike.
These murals at Wat Koh depict the Vessantara Jataka, the story of Prince Vessantara, a previous incarnation of the Buddha celebrated for his extraordinary generosity.
The scenes follow the prince as he gives away his royal elephant, leaves the palace with his wife Maddi and their children, and lives in exile in the forest. He ultimately surrenders everything most precious to him as a test of selflessness. After his virtue is proven, his family is reunited and he returns home.
Beautifully painted in the Khmer tradition, the murals unfold like a visual storybook. Their central lesson is dāna—the Buddhist virtue of giving without attachment—although, to modern eyes, the story also raises difficult questions about sacrifice, family and the limits of generosity.
The red sign over the gate reads Phước Lộc Thọ, which refers to the three gods of Fortune, Prosperity, and Longevity. The statue in the pink robe is Lady Buddha (Avalokiteshvara), or Quán Thế Âm Bồ Tát in Vietnamese.
The blue plaque says “Đại Bi Quan Thế Âm Bồ Tát” (The Great Compassionate Bodhisattva).
She is the most beloved figure in Southern Vietnamese Buddhism, seen as a protector who hears the cries of those in distress. You’ll find her at the entrance of many alleys to “guard” the residents living inside.
A large, ancient tree trunk has integrated right into the structure. In Saigon culture, old trees are often believed to house spirits, so instead of cutting them down during construction, people build around them and treat them with great respect.
These are a famous pair of large statues called Nisonbutsu – literally “two revered Buddhas.” They stand in the open air just past Hōzōmon Gate, a little off to the side of the main approach.
Who are they?
Although people call them “two Buddhas,” they actually show two bodhisattvas: Kannon (Avalokiteśvara) on one side – the bodhisattva of mercy and compassion Seishi (Mahāsthāmaprāpta) on the other – the bodhisattva of wisdom and spiritual power
In Pure Land Buddhism these two usually stand beside Amida Nyorai; here they appear together as a pair, balancing compassion and wisdom.
Edo-period origin
The statues are Edo-period works, made in 1687 by a sculptor named Takase Zenbē (Zenbee) from Tatebayashi in present-day Gunma. He dedicated them to repay a debt of gratitude to a rice-merchant family who had helped him: Kannon, bringing mercy, for the father Seishi, bringing wisdom, for the son
Because they sit outside in an open space and are always exposed to the rain, they’re also nicknamed Nurebotoke 濡れ仏 – “the Wet Buddhas.” Local guides describe them as two of the most magnificent Edo-period Buddha statues at Sensō-ji.
Just a minute’s walk from the North Exit of Komae Station, you step off the Odakyū Line and into another world. Senryū-ji Temple sits quietly in the heart of Komae City, a reminder that even in suburban Tokyo—defined by trains, apartments, and convenience stores—the past is still alive, waiting for you to notice. I happened upon it and could feel the pull from concrete into lush greenery.
Founded in the year 765 by the monk Rōben, who is also tied to the great Tōdai-ji in Nara, Senryū-ji has been a place of prayer and continuity for more than twelve centuries.
The temple grounds are not sprawling, but they hold treasures: a two-storied bell tower rare in Tokyo, cultural assets protected by the city, and a pond dedicated to Benzaiten said to have appeared when Rōben prayed for rain. Walking here, you can feel how myth, history, and everyday devotion overlap.
What I love about Senryū-ji is its sense of contrast. The hum of trains and the rhythm of weekend revelers are right outside the gate, but inside, it’s very quiet, like today, with only the sounds of consistent raindrops pitter-pattering, either on statues, the top of my umbrella, or the changing leaves of autumn. Seasonal colors shift the mood.
Tokyo has countless temples, and many of them overwhelm with their size or their crowds. Senryū-ji is different. It doesn’t demand attention—it invites it. I could breathe here. And I was alone. So rare these days.
If you find yourself on the Odakyū Line, make the stop. Wander into Senryū-ji. It won’t take long, but it may stay with you far longer than you expect. Writing about it now is bringing the experience even more deeply within me.
“Peace comes not by avoiding the world, but by understanding it.” — Himalayan proverb, often shared by monks in the Kathmandu Valley
This reflects the grounded Nepali way of embracing life with compassion, clarity, and humility—not escaping chaos, but moving through it with presence. It’s the kind of quiet wisdom you feel walking through Bouddhanath as prayer flags flutter above and wheels spin gently below.
“The trouble is, you think you have time.” —Buddha
Time is the great illusionist. It stretches out in front of us like it owes us something—like we’ll always have more of it, like the people we love will always be within reach, like we can afford to wait to start living.
It reminds me to write the story now. To speak what’s in my heart while the room is still full. To sit in the sun a little longer. To choose the scenic route, the risky leap. To call my friends. To forgive. To dance, anyway.
I’ve known goodbyes that came too fast, silences that lasted too long, moments I didn’t know were “lasts” until they were already gone. So now, I try to live eyes wide, heart open, every breath a gift I won’t get back.
Not in a frantic way, but in a sacred one.
Not because I’m afraid—but because I finally understand.
Some images don’t just capture a place—they echo something within. This one, taken on a gray-skied day in Thimphu, Bhutan, is one of them.
There he sits: the Great Buddha Dordenma, poised on a ridge above the city, cloaked in mist and framed by dark pine. Still. Watchful. Immense. Not just in size, but in presence.
Living in Bhutan, surrounded by mountains that seem to breathe with you, I often find myself looking inward as much as outward. The pace here isn’t slow, exactly—it’s steady. Grounded. A rhythm I’ve had to learn to walk in time with.
And maybe that’s why these images resonate so deeply with where I am in life right now.
I’m no longer racing to figure it all out. I’m no longer measuring myself by how many countries I’ve touched, how much I’ve published, how fast I can adjust. The questions I carry these days aren’t about where next, but rather what matters—and how to move through this world with clarity, care, and a bit of quiet.
The Buddha, serene even in stormy skies, feels like a mirror to that moment. A reminder that not all journeys require motion. Some ask for pause. Some ask us to stay long enough in one place—on one hillside, in one life—to feel the clouds break open and the meaning come through.
This is one mural on the side at one end of the Nemi Zam at the Rinpung Dzong.
This is Shakyamuni Buddha (also known as Gautama Buddha or the Historical Buddha). In Bhutanese Buddhism, Shakyamuni Buddha is revered as the founder of Buddhism who lived in the 5th-6th century BCE.
The iconography is characteristic of Shakyamuni Buddha:
The meditation posture (dhyana mudra) with hands folded in lap
The yellow/golden skin color symbolizing purity and enlightenment
The traditional red monastic robes
The blue halo and green aureole behind him
The distinctive topknot (ushnisha) on his head
The serene facial expression with half-closed eyes
Seated on a lotus throne with decorative base elements
In Bhutanese Buddhism, Shakyamuni Buddha holds a central place as the historical teacher and founder of the dharma (Buddhist teachings). Paro, Bhutan 🇧🇹 18dec24
