Long before the saffron robes arrived, the lands of the Mekong were alive with stories of unseen spirits—phi—haunting trees, rivers and rocky outcrops. When Theravāda Buddhism took root in the 14th-century Lan Xang kingdom, it didn’t sweep those old beliefs under the rug. Instead, it wove them into its own tapestry, creating a uniquely Lao fusion.

Early kings claimed divine sanction by honoring local guardian spirits alongside Buddha images. Royal shrines often stood cheek by jowl with spirit houses, each space serving its own audience of worshippers. Village monks quietly encouraged offerings of sticky rice, incense and fragrant flowers to keep the phi on friendly terms—after all, a well-disposed spirit meant good harvests and healthy livestock.

Over the centuries, this give-and-take blossomed into rituals like the baci ceremony. Tying khene reed-fiber threads around wrists, Lao families still call back wandering souls and invite blessings for everything from weddings to rice planting. Colonial observers in the late 19th century noted how seamlessly animistic rites threaded through temple festivals, a pattern that survived French rule and the upheavals of the 20th century.

Today, the animistic strand remains as lively as ever. In Vientiane’s Wat Si Muang, crowds still swarm to placate the city’s tutelary spirit before offering candlelit parades at Pi Mai (Lao New Year). When UNESCO added the baci ritual to its Intangible Cultural Heritage list in 2021, it acknowledged how this ceremony blends Buddhist merit-making with age-old spirit appeasement.

Amid modern development and eco-awareness campaigns, the old phi now double as guardians of forests and rivers—proof that Lao spirituality adapts like water finding its own channel. The result is a faith practice where Buddha’s teachings and local lore hold hands, ensuring that both monk and spirit continue watching over daily life.