I remember standing among a crowd of strangers at a Buddhist retreat, unsure of what would unfold. Though the meditation hall was already full, I was new to liturgy as practiced within the American Dharma, and this was just one round of chanting among many — yet in an instant the space was alive with sound. It was not a sermon, nor conversation, nor anything resembling the words I knew. What rose was utterance — syllables strung together in rhythm, belonging more to breath and vibration than to language.
As the chant moved through the zendo, I found myself caught in its rhythm. The sounds and words seemed to light up, one after another, like the bouncing ball once used in old sing-along films to emphasize each syllable as it was spoken. I could not understand the language, but I could feel each sound as it appeared, held, and released.
At first, the chanting was unintelligible to me. There was no meaning to grasp, only waves of sound moving through the room. Later I learned the sangha had been reciting the Sho Sai Myō Kichijō Dharani, a chant passed down through centuries, meant to ward off calamities and invite blessings. Its opening lines — “No mo san man da moto nan, oha ra chi koto sha sono nan to…” — have traveled from Sanskrit through Chinese into Japanese, losing literal translation along the way. Yet what remains is not absence, but essence. The syllables are preserved for their resonance, for the way they protect and transform, like sound made into shelter.
At another gathering, the voices lifted again in the Emmei Jukku Kannon Gyō. This chant was brief, repeated three times, yet it carried profound presence. “Kan ze on na mu butsu yo, butsu u in yo butsu u en bup po so en jo raku ga jo…” I later learned it is often offered for long life, for healing, and as a reminder that every thought can return to compassion.
In those moments, standing among strangers, I realized the meaning was not in the words themselves. It was in the utterance — in the resonance of breath moving through many voices, shaping the space we shared. The chants worked not as sentences but as vibration, as rhythm, as something that bypassed intellect and went directly to the body.
From that encounter grew my contemplation of the Sacred Syllable. Every tradition carries its own: Om in Hinduism and Buddhism, Amen in Christianity, the Shema in Judaism, Bismillah in Islam. Each arises where language dissolves into vibration, where meaning becomes embodied rather than explained. The Sacred Syllable cannot be confined to one tradition. It is discovered whenever sound, breath, and spirit meet — when we allow sound to be what it is, without forcing it into words.
The Buddhist chants I heard that day revealed a truth that extends far beyond temple walls: the sacred is not always spoken, but sounded. It is not captured in explanation, but experienced in resonance. And in that resonance, we find not only protection or longevity, but a return to what is timeless.
The Chants
Sho Sai Myō Kichijō Dharani
Dharani for Removing Calamities and Inviting Auspiciousnessoha ra chi koto sha sono nan to
ji to en gya gya gya ki gya ki
un nun shiu ra shiu ra hara
shiu ra hara shiu ra chishu sa
chishu sa chishu ri chishu ri
sowa ja sowa ja sen chi gya
shiri ei somo ko
No mo san man da moto nan
oha ra chi koto sha sono nan to
ji to en gya gya gya ki gya ki
un nun shiu ra shiu ra hara
shiu ra hara shiu ra chishu sa
chishu sa chishu ri chishu ri
sowa ja sowa ja sen chi gya
shiri ei somo ko
No mo san man da moto nan
oha ra chi koto sha sono nan to
ji to en gya gya gya ki gya ki
un nun shiu ra shiu ra hara
shiu ra hara shiu ra chishu sa
chishu sa chishu ri chishu ri
sowa ja sowa ja sen chi gya
shiri ei somo ko
Emmei Jukku Kannon Gyō
Ten-Phrase Life-Prolonging Sutra of Avalokiteśvarabutsu u in yo butsu u en bup po
so en jo raku ga jo cho nen kan
ze on bo nen kan ze on nen nen
ju shin ki nen nen fu ri shin
Kan ze on na mu butsu yo
butsu u in yo butsu u en bup po
so en jo raku ga jo cho nen kan
ze on bo nen kan ze on nen nen
ju shin ki nen nen fu ri shin
Kan ze on na mu butsu yo
butsu u in yo butsu u en bup po
so en jo raku ga jo cho nen kan
ze on bo nen kan ze on nen nen
ju shin ki nen nen fu ri shin
In the end, this reflection isn’t about mastering foreign words but about recognizing how sound and vibration carry meaning. Standing among strangers, I met two streams of practice — the Sho Sai Myō Kichijō Dharani and the Emmei Jukku Kannon Gyō — and felt how their syllables worked like a quiet bouncing ball, lighting each moment of breath. These chants remind me that prayer is vibration before it is language, that protection and compassion can arrive as rhythm before they become ideas. If the Sacred Syllable has an origin, it is here: where breath, voice, and deep listening meet. If this resonates, sit for a minute, read a few lines softly, and let the sound do its work.