Feeding the Hungry Ghosts: Reflections on Segaki

Andrea Lawrie
Oct 19
7 min read

Each autumn, as the light begins to wane and the trees work their magic turning the leaves all sorts of beautiful colours, I always feel something ancient stirring beneath the surface of the land.

Across different cultures, there's a shared belief that at this time of year the veil between worlds grows thin, and it is a time when we are invited to honour both the living and the dead, the seen and the unseen.

Last year, in honour of my sister, Aileen, and just a few weeks after her death, I took part in Segaki, a week-long Japanese Zen Buddhist ceremony intended for those who have recently died. The ceremony takes place each year at Throssel Hole Buddhist Abbey in England, near the end of October, and one-year on, I’ve found myself re-reading my journal entries and reflecting on what the experience revealed, and what it continues to teach me.

Throssel Hole and Segaki

Throssel is a peaceful monastery nestled among the moors near Hexham in Northumberland, England. Founded in 1972 by Rev. Hōun Jiyu-Kennett, a pioneering British female monk, who brought Sōtō Zen teachings to the West. Throssel belongs to the Order of Buddhist Contemplatives, and also includes Shasta Abbey in California. Jiyu's teaching was simple yet profound - that enlightenment is not something to be attained, but something to be recognised in the here and now, in the midst of life as it unfolds naturally in daily life.

The Segaki ceremony (translated as Feeding the Hungry Ghosts) has its origins in the Ullambana Sutra, in which the Buddha’s disciple Maudgalyāyana, after his mother’s death, seeks to ease her suffering in the realm of the hungry ghosts (gaki). Through meditation and offerings, he realises that compassion itself can transform and transmute the suffering of others, even those in the other worlds.

This ceremony has been preserved over the centuries since the time of the Buddha, and has become a way of honouring those who have died, helping to release attachments, and feeding not only the spirits of the departed but also the hungry places within our own human hearts.

Photo Credit: Throssel Hole Buddhist Abbey (me in the bright green jumper).

At Throssel, the ceremony unfolds throughout the week through periods of meditation during the day and into the evening. There's singing of Buddhist scriptures, periods of silence, mindful daily practice, and dharma teachings from the monks. Each day begins before dawn. We're woken by a monk ringing a loud hand-held bell as they walk through the cloisters at 5:45 am, calling everyone to the zendo (meditation hall). As you approach, incense drifts through the doorway; people settle quietly on meditation mats, dwarfed by the huge golden Buddha on the altar. Everyone faces the wall to meditate, with eyes open; present to life. The monks’ robes move softly; they bow gently.

Throughout the week, everyone takes part in cooking, washing dishes, sweeping, and serving food. Every gesture becomes part of the ceremony - a reminder that even the smallest act, when done with reverence, becomes an offering. Each morning meditation begins with the sound of the dawn drum and it feels perfectly timed with the sunrise - as if one calls the other into being. Over the days, the mind begins to still, and moments of clarity begin to arise.

Walking in Nature

Each day there's time where we can walk and reflect. One afternoon, wandering among the autumn trees, I noticed the exact moment a single leaf let go. It loosened from the branch, turned in the still air, and came to rest at my feet. In that small moment, a teaching revealed itself which is difficult to put into words - impermanence; release and letting go with grace. It came with a deep sense of peace: that death is simply part of life’s unfolding, and that we are not separate from it. In that moment, I saw that there is no leaf and no “me” - no life, no death, just being.

Feeding the Hungry Ghosts

As the days continued, the ceremony reached its height. Near the front door of the monastery, an altar was set up and the doors kept wide open to symbolise that the hungry ghosts are welcome to enter. A feast of food, drinks, and money was placed there as offerings to attract and ultimately free the spirits who have died in suffering.

Segaki Altar, Throssel Hole — *Segaki* Altar, Throssel Hole

We were invited to write the names of loved ones, both human and animal, on tall wooden memorial tablets (ihai) and place them on the altar. The ceremony was extraordinary: monks played drums and cymbals, gongs sounded loudly, and the Mantras of the Sweet Gate Scripture were chanted by everyone over and over, again and again. The energy shifted tangibly, and the hair on my arms stood on end.

That evening, the Toro Fire Ceremony took place in the abbey courtyard. A bonfire burned as we filed quietly forward. The monks stood in a circle around the fire, and we stood in a circle around them, their shadows dancing against the stone walls, as the flames rose and flickered in gold and amber light. As I watched, it was difficult to tell which century I was in - time seemed to have dissolved. I felt somehow connected to all who had ever taken part in this ceremony through the generations, across all realms. We each carried slips of paper bearing the names of loved ones and were invited to offer them into the flames for release. I wrote the name of my sister, my parents and my grandparents.

Toro, Segaki, Throssel Hole — Toro, *Segaki,* Throssel Hole

Watching the smoke rise, I realised that the act of offering was not about loss, but transformation. It was a way of saying: May you be nourished. May you be at peace. I let you go.

It struck me that both Zen and shamanic traditions share this truth, that life is cyclical, that the unseen can be fed by the living through presence, gratitude, and compassion, and that what we offer in love is never lost.

The Hungry Ghosts Within

In Buddhist imagery, hungry ghosts are represented as beings with tiny mouths and vast bellies, consumed by cravings that can never be satisfied. The teachings are profound, and no short reflection can do it justice. In Buddhism it is said there are six realms of existence and the realm of the hungry ghosts is one of these six realms. Hungry ghosts can represent the parts of ourselves that reach and grasp for fulfilment but somehow still feel empty, such as through our attachments, addictions, desires, habits of mind.

Segaki helps us recognise our inner hungers and offers a way to meet them. In shamanic practice, we might speak of soul loss or shadow work - the understanding that parts of us can become exiled or abandoned (or taken from us) for example, through trauma, pain, habit, addiction or fear. These disowned aspects of ourselves often sit outside our awareness and quietly shape our choices. When we turn toward them with awareness and compassion, they begin to soften; what was exiled can find its way home.

As I sat in meditation that week, I noticed my familiar inner ghosts rise and fall with the breath - the one who strives, the one who doubts, the one who fears. Instead of grabbing at them or pushing them away, I invited them to sit with me. In that act of recognition and as the days unfolded, they grew quieter and more peaceful.

Flying clouds in a flying sky,

I listen and hear the wild goose cry;

Peaceful eve but it’s no use

For I am sister to the wild, white goose.

My heart knows what the wild goose knows

For my heart goes where the wild goose goes;

Wild goose, sister goose, which is best,

The flying sky or a heart at rest?

(From The Wild, White Goose)

Closing

Each year, autumn will remind me of my sister, Aileen, and all of my loved ones who have passed. And Segaki reminds me that compassion is not the light that drives darkness away, but the warmth that welcomes it home.

Whether through Zen meditation, Shamanic ceremony or healing, or the quiet pauses of daily life, the essence is the same - to invite what is unseen into the light, and to know that separation is an illusion. And when compassion and non-judgement are offered freely, it can transform everything it touches.

For my sister, Aileen, who wanted to visit Throssel, but never got the chance. And to my parents, my grandparents and ancestors.

And to the monks at Throssel who held us all with such love, compassion and grace during Segaki week.

In gassho 🙏🏻

Shamanic Practitioner • Teacher • Reiki Master • Guide

Weaving science and compassion with ancient wisdom.

Throssel Hole

If you have never been to Throssel, I genuinely recommend it. The abbey offers a programme of retreats, ceremonies, and introductory weekends and online events throughout the year on a donation only basis. The resident monks live and practise there full-time, offering Zen teachings freely and welcoming all who come in sincerity. You don’t have to be a Buddhist to visit (I don't identify as a Buddhist), yet the peace of the place and the generosity of the monks’ practice speak to something universal.

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