Our day begins at the Yonghe Lama Temple, Beijing’s most revered Tibetan Buddhist monastery and a cherished sanctuary of ritual, colour and centuries-old devotion. Built in the 17th century as an imperial residence before becoming a lamasery, the complex blends Tibetan, Han and Mongolian traditions with remarkable harmony. As we approach the grand archway, the noise of the city retreats. Incense perfumes the air. The flutter of prayer flags adds subtle movement against the tranquil courtyards, guarded by carved lions whose expressions seem to shift with the light.
At the heart of this experience is a ritual available only on very specific days. The monks’ chanting — a profoundly atmospheric ceremony seldom shared with outsiders — takes place exclusively on the 1st and 15th days of each lunar month. These dates hold special meaning for local Buddhists, who come to the temple to pray, reflect and honour tradition. By visiting on one of these sacred days, we take part in a moment that is both fleeting and extraordinary, witnessed by very few.
As we enter the Hall of Harmony and Peace, the sound rises first as a vibration — low, deep and resonant. Dozens of monks sit in long rows, their yellow and red robes flowing around them like folds of flame. Sutra books lie open before them, pages filled with curling Tibetan script. Their voices begin to unify, building into a chant that fills the hall — a sound that seems to pulse in the floor and echo across the carved beams above. Cymbals shimmer. Drums murmur steadily. It is less a performance than an embodied rhythm of faith, unfolding in real time.
We stand quietly, observing with respect. Pilgrims circle the edges of the hall, turning prayer wheels with practiced devotion. Some kneel in full prostration; others clasp incense sticks, eyes closed in meditation. The energy is communal yet contemplative — intimate without being intrusive. For a moment, the outside world dissolves.
After the ceremony, we continue exploring the temple grounds. In the Hall of Everlasting Blessing, rows of prayer wheels spin continuously, their metal surfaces warm from countless hands. We pause before the temple’s most extraordinary treasure: an 18-metre-tall statue of the Maitreya Buddha, carved from a single sandalwood trunk — an engineering marvel and a spiritual icon towering above us with serene poise.
In the courtyards, elder devotees practise meditative movements beneath ancient cypress trees. Their gestures trace invisible characters in the air, each one a quiet offering. We move slowly, absorbing the architecture, symbolism and serenity that shape this sacred space.
As we leave, the chanting lingers — not just as a memory of sound, but as a feeling: deep, grounded and profoundly human. This experience, available only twice each lunar month, offers a rare passage into the spiritual heart of Beijing — and into a tradition that continues to breathe, evolve and inspire.
