Noh & Kyogen Performance at Byodo-in Temple in Kyoto

Nowadays, Noh and Kyogen, Japanese traditional performing arts developed in 14th century, registered as UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritageare, are usually performed indoors at Noh theaters, but originally they were performed outdoors.

Noh was originally a form of popular entertainment with strong elements of amusement, and it was Zeami who elevated it into the refined, stylized, and sacred form of performing art we see today.

I've always thought—though I'm no expert—that by performing it outdoors, people were able to connect with spirits, gods, the deceased, vengeful souls through the elements of nature expanding audiences' consciousness from the everyday world into something beyond.

This thought, along with the special opportunity to see Noh and Kyogen performed in front of the Phoenix Hall at Byodo-in Temple, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, was what brought me to Kyoto.

The special stage was set against the stunning backdrop of the Phoenix Hall, with its image beautifully reflected in the vast pond—an ethereal, paradise-like world envisioned by the Fujiwara clan in 11th century.

On this stage, two plays were performed: the Kyogen Tsūen, which and the Noh Tōru, both are connected to Uji where Byodo-in Temple is located.

While it wasn’t quite a perfect “time slip” into the medieval world—since the occasional sound of a train, a motorcycle, or a passing airplane reminded us of the present—what stood out was how the rhythm of the traditional drums, bamboo flutes, and chanting echoed through the open space under the super moon, and how the performers, though human, seemed almost otherworldly—evoking a sense of being connected to something beyond.

I'm not well-versed in how and what time of the day Noh was performed in Zeami’s time, but I imagine it began not in the middle of the day, but rather during twilight, when day turns into night. As the darkness deepened, performers would have been lit by flickering torchlight, their figures gently emerging in the gloom, and the sound of drums, flutes, and chanting would carry the audience’s consciousness far and wide.

Even today, Noh performed by firelight—takigi nō—is held in various places, and I’ve seen one in Kamakura in Kanagawa Prefecture. But at that time, the audience was large and the stage far away, and I felt like a mere observer, separate from the performance. In contrast, at this Byodo-in performance, the audience was limited to just 100 people. The stage was right in front of us—we could even hear the performers breathe. There was an incredible sense of unity between performers and audience. As the movements of the actors and the sounds of drums, flutes, and chanting filled the air, the space seemed to expand outward, and I felt my own awareness stretch into other dimensions, into a realm beyond this one.

This is just a personal impression, but it’s a sensation I’ve never experienced in the enclosed space of an indoor theater. It was only possible because we were outdoors, in darkness untouched by power lines or neon signs. The shifting breeze, the rippling water of the pond, the twinkling stars, the gradually brightening moonlight, the rustling trees—all these natural elements created a setting where that unique feeling could emerge.

The sensations and emotions I felt in such a space are hard to put into words—perhaps they shouldn’t be. Maybe this very “inexpressible feeling” is something deeply Japanese in itself.

Byodo-in Temple is also the place where Minamoto no Yorimasa, who preceded Minamoto no Yoritomo, the founder and the first shogun of the Kamakura shogunate, in taking up arms against the Taira clan, met his end when he was pursued by enemies. There is a grave there, and for someone like me who lives in a region once inhabited by the Miura clan—who supported the Kamakura Shogunate—it felt quietly moving.