Reiki crossed my path many years ago, in the way it often does for many of us: mysteriously, unexpectedly, and beautifully. Although I haven’t pursued it professionally as a therapist, with each passing day I see more clearly that this precious calling came to me as a way to redirect and rebuild my spiritual path from where I stood at that moment in life.
Since childhood, I had written texts, stories, and reflections, and at the time Reiki entered my life, I was preparing to become a primary school teacher—a profession I still practice today. I felt an inexplicable need to do something with my hands, a feeling that appeared in vivid dreams and strong intuitions. But I soon realized that what my hands were asking for wasn’t quite what I had initially imagined…
Beyond the therapeutic aspect—which has brought greater well-being to myself, my family, and friends—one of the first gifts Reiki offered me was a deeper connection to Japanese culture. As someone who loves languages, I discovered that the Japanese language is imbued with a profound philosophy, an untranslatable sense that reveals a very particular way of perceiving both the world and the spirit.
That’s how I came across a phrase the Japanese often say during first encounters: Ichi-go, Ichi-e, written in kanji: 一期一会.
One Moment, One Encounter
In some traditional Japanese teahouses, this phrase hangs in plain sight for all guests to see. The essence of the legendary tea ceremony is contained in it. Its closest literal translation would be: “One moment, one encounter.” If we delve deeper into its meaning, it tells us: “In this moment, you have an opportunity.” Or, put another way: every encounter is unique and unrepeatable.
I asked Hiromi, my Japanese teacher, whether this was truly a commonly used expression in Japan. With a curious smile and grateful for my interest in her culture, she opened the Japanese textbook to its final page and looked for the section titled “Common Japanese sayings and expressions.” And there it was: ichi-go, ichi-e.
In fact, these words are often whispered like a blessing, a promise, or a farewell. They are typically said when meeting someone for the first time, or when reuniting with a friend you haven’t seen in a long while, as a way of sharing something special together. It’s a way of saying: “What a beautiful moment we’ve shared. Keep it in your heart, because it will not come again.”
When we speak this expression, we evoke the fleeting beauty of the moment—something deeply present in Hanami, the Japanese celebration of cherry blossoms, as well as in Zen practice, meditation, and mindfulness. All of these remind us of the importance of being fully present, of the awareness of now, and of nurturing presence as a form of spiritual medicine.
Integrating “Ichi-go, Ichi-e” into Everyday Life
For me, spirituality has no real meaning unless it is lived from the day-to-day, from the ordinary. As my dear teacher Jordi Ibern often says, the challenge lies in integrating it into our daily tasks and struggles—continuing along the path through the trials of life that each of us has chosen to experience, beyond the monasteries or temples to which we return only to remember what is essential.
But how do we bring this simple—yet powerful—philosophy into our everyday lives?
Listening with Our Feet on the Ground
One of the first things I would suggest, based on my own experience, is to cultivate active listening. Truly attentive listening is a rare gift in the world we live in. Technology has allowed us to connect with people across the globe, yet in close proximity we still struggle to truly hear one another.
I see this every day at school. I observe many children with attention difficulties, unable to enjoy the moment, often overwhelmed by a constant, almost compulsive, need to anticipate what’s coming next. Naturally, we adults are not offering the best example; we have contributed significantly to this imbalance—overstimulating them, filling their lives with “activity” while emptying them of presence, of the joy of the present moment. We prioritize doing over being.
Sometimes I offer my students brief meditations and ask them to place both feet flat on the floor and lean their backs firmly against the chair—or to sit directly on the ground. I notice that many sit with their feet dangling, their gaze adrift, their heads— as I tell them—”flying.”
When they finally connect with the ground, I ask them to silently observe the rhythm of their breath. After this brief exercise, I ask how they feel. They compare how they felt before and after. Some say they feel more “grounded.” Others say they feel a bit calmer, less anxious. Then, we can begin the class.
On one occasion, a student asked me why we were “wasting time” meditating instead of doing English. I replied that we hadn’t lost time by spending ten minutes in meditation—on the contrary, we had gained it.
At eight years old, he still struggled to understand what I meant. But others, in silence, smiled… and I knew the seed had been planted. I remember that session was far more fruitful.
Let us honor each encounter as something unique, practicing attentive listening, resisting the urge to rush ahead and build a response filled with our own needs, frustrations, or distractions… Listening with the heart, engaging in sincere and authentic exchanges with others. Not merely showing interest, but recognizing the other person as important simply for being here, now, sharing this moment with us—a moment that will no longer exist tomorrow, that will already be different.
An Art of the Soul
Ichi-go, Ichi-e is not just a Japanese expression. It is an art of the soul. It reminds us that every person who enters our life is a gift. Every encounter is, in essence, a small miracle.
And this is how I live Reiki today—not only as a therapeutic practice, but as a way of inhabiting the present moment. As a silent reverence to the unrepeatable. As an art of the soul that says, without words: thank you for being here.
光
Imma Torres Marín
@immatorres.autora
