Ichi-go Ichi-e: This Moment Will Never Come Again

ICHI-GO ICHI-E: THIS MOMENT WILL NEVER COME AGAIN

Last week, I introduced my yogees to a Japanese concept that has deeply shaped how I approach both teaching and life: Ichi-go Ichi-e (一期一会). It’s one of those ideas that’s simple on the surface, yet endlessly profound once it sinks in.

Translated, Ichi-go Ichi-e means “one time, one meeting.” But it goes much deeper than that. It’s the reminder that this moment-right here, right now-is unique. It will never happen again in the same way.

Even if we practice yoga together regularly every week, that moment, that shared breath, the energy we bring into the room - it's one-of-a-kind. The way your body feels in movement, the way your breath meets your thoughts, the way you interpret these words you’re reading right now… it will never be repeated.

That’s the core of Ichi-go Ichi-e: honouring the present moment as sacred. Being fully in it; not rushing through, not thinking ahead, not clinging to what just passed. Just being here.

ROOTED IN THE TEA AND ZEN

The concept of Ichi-go Ichi-e has its roots in Zen Buddhism and the ritual of the Japanese tea ceremony (chanoyu or sadō), an art form where even the simplest gathering is treated as a once-in-a-lifetime experience. It’s a practice in mindfulness, presence, and impermanence.

I experienced Ichigo Ichie firsthand during a traditional tea ceremony in Kyoto in 2018, and it was mindful. The tea host -teishu - welcomed us into the space not with words, but with quiet presence. We were invited not to speak during the ceremony, but simply to observe. To hear the gentle sounds of water being poured, to watch the delicate movements of mixing matcha, to feel the stillness in the room. There was an almost sacred quality to it—a deep reverence for the present moment. That experience stayed with me and truly brought the essence of Ichigo Ichie to life.

Every time the teishu prepares tea for guests, it’s done with the understanding that no matter how ordinary it may seem, that moment will never happen again-not in that exact combination of people, feelings, smells, sounds, and energies.

The moment awareness creates a shift. It invites us to slow down. To notice. To show up with our full presence-not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.

WHY IT MATTERS

How often we’re expected to do more, produce more, be more. It’s so easy to fall into autopilot—checking off tasks, planning the next thing, replaying the past. But when we live like that, we miss this moment.

Jizo Buddhas of Nikko

I admit that over the past few years, I’ve let myself get swept up in the busyness. Or rather, I made myself too busy to be truly aware of the now. Ichigo Ichie has been the gentle tap on the shoulder, reminding me: This moment matters.

And yet, life isn’t perfect. We all go through seasons where everything seems to flow, and others where it feels like life is testing us or making us pay for something unseen.

This year, for me, has been one of those more difficult seasons. For months, I found myself stuck—afraid of the future, and tangled in guilt about the past. Just when I thought my anxiety was a distant memory, it came back, relentless, hovering over me.

What was my medicine? Meditation.

I know that might sound simple, even too simple. But that’s the thing. Often, we search for solutions far outside ourselves when the most effective remedies are right here. Returning to stillness - even just a few quiet breaths - helped me come back to clarity. To the present. It reminded me that I didn’t have to solve everything at once. I just had to be here.

Deep down, this philosophy has always lived quietly in me, even before I had the words for it. Whether in teaching, in conversation, or simple everyday interactions, I’ve always tried to be fully present. To meet people and moments with care. To treat every class, every chat, every opportunity to connect as something meaningful. Because it is.

A STORY THAT STUCK WITH ME

There’s a Zen story I love and often come back to. Two monks are walking together when they come across a woman at the river, unable to cross. One monk offers to help, lifting her and carrying her across. The second monk stays silent but is troubled. Hours later, he finally speaks up: “As monks, we’re not supposed to go near women. Why did you do that?” And the first monk replies: “I left her at the river hours ago. Why are you still carrying her?”

There are so many layers in this story. It reminds us of the power of compassion - that when we have a chance to help someone, we should take it, because we may not get that chance again. It also speaks to how often we carry things long after the moment has passed. The past is done. The present is all we have.

EVERYDAY MOMENTS, ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME

What I love about Ichigo Ichie is that it applies everywhere. Not just in the art of tea ceremonies or quiet moments of reflection. It applies in the middle of a conversation, in a laugh with a friend, in the stillness of a solo walk, or even in a brief greeting with a stranger.

Of course, I know that living this way isn’t always easy, especially in a big, fast-paced city like London. Sometimes it feels like there’s no room for connection. I often wonder why, when we travel abroad, we tend to be more open, kind, and friendly with the people around us. Maybe it’s the unfamiliarity that invites us to pay closer attention. Maybe it's because we’ve given ourselves permission to slow down.

I commute to work three times a week (yes, teaching yoga isn’t my only job), and I notice it all the time. I see the same people over and over again—faces I now recognise—but there’s no sense of community. People look tired, overwhelmed, or lost in their thoughts or screens. Saying a simple “hi” or “good morning” often feels... almost rebellious.

But last week, I decided to try. I was sitting across from an elderly lady I’d seen countless times. I looked up and gently said, “Morning.” She smiled back. Just a moment—one encounter, one time. But it stayed with me.

Monks in Japan embody this philosophy so beautifully, even in something as small as a greeting. For them, it’s not just a matter of politeness. It’s an acknowledgement: This may be the only moment I have with this person. Let me meet it with full presence.

What would it look like if we all lived that way? If we truly treated each interaction—each breath, each day—as something we won’t get back?

It doesn’t mean putting pressure on every moment to be perfect. It means noticing its uniqueness. Valuing it. Being in it.

A PERSONAL PRACTICE

This concept continues to shape how I teach, how I interact with others, and how I live. It’s not always easy. Life pulls us in a million directions. But when I remember Ichigo Ichie, something always shifts. I soften. I slow down. I appreciate.

And so, I leave you with this invitation: as you go about your day, try to see the moments not as ordinary, but as irreplaceable. Whether you’re making tea, holding someone’s hand, or just sitting with yourself, treat it like it’s the only time it will ever happen.

Because in truth, it is.

Edited by Silvia De Vecchi