Home Again

I have been home for nearly a month now, but have been rather slow to get this last post out. Actually, a couple of people have suggested that I should continue this blog to write about the experiences of coming home and what has happened/is happening. I’m not sure if that will happen or not – in keeping with learning from the temple I guess I will just say that “everything is uncertain”. This is something that is important to keep in mind I think, as our minds trained in the Western ways tend to want to lock things down into prediction and planning and to think of ourselves as being in control of our world and our directions. The illusion of control is certainly there, but it is really only an illusion.

In any case, I have been home for several weeks now and letting myself re-enter this lifestyle slowly. In many ways it has been wonderful to be home, and in many ways it has been, and continues to be, quite difficult. The wonderful part is to be able to see people again, renew friendships and be in closer touch with family and friends. It’s also rather nice to be able to eat pretty much whatever I want and whenever I want, and have familiar food back again. I had a lot of good food at the temple, but there wasn’t  a lot in the way of choosing and I didn’t have any way to store or cook food so meals generally depended on someone else. Having a refrigerator and a stove and cupboards to put things in is rather nice.

Actually, there are lots of physical things that it is really great to have again – a bathroom with dry floors, hot and cold running water, a house with insulation that modifies the outside environment (more than just keeping the rain off), enough electricity to use things like electric kettles and stoves, washing machines and dryers, and even a plug in so I don’t have to use my computer on a battery all the time and then plug it in to charge periodically. Driving my own vehicle is nice, being able to choose when I want to go somewhere and then do it, being able to understand what people are saying and talk to whoever I want to whenever I want to, without worrying about an interpreter or trying to use my extremely limited Thai abilities…

These things are all great and a relief, but there are other things that are proving to be a bit difficult.

When I came back from Thailand last time, I had a very difficult period of several months during which time I felt frightened of life in general and almost incapacitated at times. I didn’t understand this at all – and it was actually part of the impetus for going back this time. I wanted to understand what had happened.

Coming back home again this time has been much easier than the first time, thankfully, but it has included some similar experiences as well.

One of the things that is difficult is explaining what I was doing over there, why I went, or what it’s like to be back. I find that the words really aren’t sufficient to explain what it is like to live immersed in a completely different value system than our own for nearly eight months, and to be marinated in a Zen philosophy and lifestyle during this time. How can I describe what it feels like to sit under the moon surrounded by the darkness and the insect sounds of the jungle, at the tiny home of a friendly monk and feel not only the impact of words but also the essence of peacefulness that he exudes? How can I explain the inner changes, and the challenges to reality that come from traveling for two weeks with a group of monks, who are also friends, and seeing and feeling the way in which they relate with the world? It can sound crazy to talk about the experience of being with people who think nothing of talking to angels now and then, or communicating with a variety of beings from other dimensions, or of feeling the gentle flow of energy from the teacher that wafts like a breeze through the people gathered for prayer, clearing the mind and calming the emotions. These are not things that are easily spoken of here.

I can talk about things like “letting go” or “relaxing the mind”, “releasing the idea of a permanent self”, “not fixing things”, “not trying”… but they are only words, and in this culture they are kind of strange words really. Much of what I experienced during my time at the temple would be considered as quite esoteric at best, and downright strange at worst, when seen from the viewpoint of Western thought, and so it is really difficult to explain or say anything that really seems to communicate in a satisfactory way what the experience was like.

This quote from Hamlet seems to be a fitting one, though, when I think of this issue in communication:

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 
- Hamlet (1.5.166-7), Hamlet to Horatio

This, I believe, is true to an extent that is literally unimaginable, and perhaps it is a good place to start. This world and this life that we think we are living is both so much simpler and so much more complex and vast than we generally can even conceive of. I think of myself as only having touched the edges of the vastness, and yet I have the sense of so much that is there. In an infinite universe, such as this one, everything is possible, and there is room for everything to exist – including other dimensions and all that may live and exist in these dimensions.

In one sense, none of this vastness matters. We are here in these human bodies living human lives and there is more than enough wonder, depth, and potential in this. There is no need to search out other worlds or dimensions or experiences beyond the five senses. However, in another sense, it can be helpful to realize just how small and confining our way of perceiving the world can be, and how tightly we cling to the beliefs and perceptions that literally shape and create our experience of what is real.

We also tend, in our culture, to want things to be definitely one way or another. We don’t tend to be comfortable with the idea that something can be both one way, and the opposite way, and both can be true. How can something both matter and not matter? How can the answer to “do we live more than one life?” be both “yes” and “no”? What about this notion of a “self”? How can we both have one and not have one and what on earth is this about anyway? We want things to be definite, but the one thing that can be said with complete certainty is that everything is uncertain. This is true in quantum science, as well as philosophy by the way. (This little two minute trailer for Amit Goswami’s Quantum Activist documentary talks briefly about the way in which we have been trained to see everything as material, and the quantum perspective in which every object is actually a field of possibility).

So, the experience of coming home has been both good, and anticlimactic. Good, as I have described before, and anticlimactic in that I stepped out for eight months and then stepped back in to the same set of beliefs and ideas. My idea of who I am has been changing, but the images left behind have been static. Coming back has created some internal conflict between the new images inside and the old images as seen in my connections with others.

There has also been a return of some of the feelings that I experienced on my first return. An image I have is of a piece of hardened foam that has been compressed. At the temple, whatever is present in the lifestyle and belief system there seems to allow the pressure to be released and the foam starts to decompress and expand and as it does this it begins to “feel” more space inside. It is a good feeling, and if we connect the metaphor, awareness of the person who is the “foam” also begins to expand and have more space. It delves more deeply both inwardly and outwardly and begins to experience the flows of energy in the body more clearly. All of this helps in being able to take in and digest the experience of a larger and more expanded sense of reality as well, and to release old belief systems that limit this sense.

Coming back however, I have experienced a reverse of this process again. This is still inexplicable to me – I don’t why it happens this way, if it is just my own experience and someone else would find something completely different, or if it is a property of place and culture. In any case, my experience has been one of compression again, in which the “foam” pushes back in on itself, old feelings of tension or anxiety return, and the spacious awareness recedes somewhat. This is rather disappointing, to say the least, and quite physically uncomfortable at times. However, much of the emphasis of the teaching that I received is that it is not about what the body experiences and it is not about what the mind thinks. What and who we truly are is something that is beyond what the mind can comprehend and so there is not much point in giving attention to the mind’s thoughts about who it is. One needs to go more deeply than this, to ask the question “Who or what am I” and let it settle into the depths of being like a stone sinking into the depths of a great ocean. Let the question make its own path and be ready for answers to arrive in unexpected ways… Be ready to accept the possibility that "I" may not exist at all...

So, if I seem a bit distracted at times, it is probably because I am. Integrating what happened in another world of experience with this present Canadian time and place will take some time, and I am struggling at times with some of the uncomfortable bits of this.

However, life moves ahead and I am getting set to go back to work in September. I had hoped to be building a house this summer, but was not prepared for the paperwork and planning needed before anything can happen on a lot in town (I had hoped to just build a little cabin to stay in, initially at least, but this plan proved incompatible with the land that I have). My parents have very kindly offered their basement as a place where I can stay while I am getting the plans and permits and things together, and so that is where I am at the moment.

In conclusion, if there can be such a thing as a conclusion, I feel a need to reiterate what I said in a previous post about the nature of enlightenment. The word “enlightenment” is rather charged and full of connotations and erroneous understandings, so perhaps “awakening” would be a better choice. In any case, I have found my way of perceiving these ideas changing. From the viewpoint of “enlightenment” as a distant and basically unattainable state of being that must be worked for with incredible diligence and determination, I have now come to the viewpoint that it is actually something which is not only attainable but constantly and eternally present as the basic state of being of all things. It is not something far away in the future, but present in this moment – if only we have the eyes to see…  

I also believed that people who experienced this reality were limited to beings such as the Buddha, or Jesus, or the great teachers of the past. Now I am finding that there are many many people who are experiencing awakenings all over the world, in all religions and even without religion. There are many teachers, from different religions and traditions, teaching the same basic truth and teaching. It is not complex, although I am finding it more difficult to remember the simplicity as I step back into this way of living – but still, it is not complex.

That is the hopeful thing, I think, and the thought that I would like to end with at this point. No matter how hopeless or strange or violent the world situation appears to be, there is also a reality of awakening in this time. Multitudes of people are awakening, in greater and lesser degrees, to a wider viewpoint of who and what we are, what life is about, what is possible, and in doing so they are also seeing that it is all much simpler than they believed before. Millions of people are learning to let go of old images of self, of beliefs, of desires, of needs, of conditions or expectations that they place on themselves and others, and with each release there is greater space and more possibility for peace.

There is most definitely more in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in our philosophy. Even just that, if accepted with openness, is a step into greater freedom…

Thank you for being with me on this journey - much love to you all,

Todd

A Dream and a Cremation

I had a dream a few days ago, the details of which are not terribly important I suppose, except that it was a rather lucid sort of dream about a meeting between a cast of characters who all turned out to be different aspects of myself. They were discussing the question "Why are you here?". 

The meaning of “here” was a bit vague – it could have meant here in the dream, here at the temple, here wherever one finds oneself, here in a body, here in the universe… Actually, they are all the same “here” anyway I suppose. From the point of view of ultimate reality, there is nowhere that isn’t “here”. But that’s a digression from the actual question, which is a good one I think. “Why are you here?”  The answer to this question will change and shift with time and perception, but it points to who and what we think we are, as well as to what we think we are looking for. The answer also points to what is important to us.

Unfortunately, the meeting was adjourned approximately two seconds before my alarm clock went off, and "we" didn't arrive at any hard and fast conclusions.

There was a cremation here a few days ago. An old nun passed away from cancer. Most of the temple people gathered in a clearing near one end of the temple grounds. Monks had worked through the heat of a very hot and sultry day to stack logs in a platform seven layers high, to set up lights and generator and chairs and mats. The coffin was high on the stack of logs, nuns ranged in rows on one side, monks milling about on another, laypeople on mats on the ground on another, trees behind. Luang por arrived. There were no words, no memories or telling of stories or talking about what was or might be. He lit the fire and the flames leaped through the dry wood quickly. Monks gathered around the growing flames, giving their own versions of blessings. Luang por left.

People were given little flowers made of wood shavings to throw on the flames, which we did very quickly as the inferno was extremely hot. We sat for a while, watching the flames dashing for the sky, rising over 2/3 the height of the nearby trees and showering sparks into the wind of its own passage. Gradually, people drifted off. The generator shut down and the lights went out. Heat lightening flashed frequently, but silently, in the distance and the hot air of the night had a lightly burning feel to it, when it found enough energy to sulk past on a small breeze.

It is the Korean custom to be present during a cremation and so when Joy died her family and I walked down to the funeral home. We watched as her body, on its little pallet of wood and cardboard, was placed in the furnace and waited while the furnace roared and she was consumed… these are images etched onto my memory.

Hardwood burns for a long time. The coffin was consumed and the logs threatening to fall before I left, but the platform still stood, the orange flames burning my memory along with the remains of a life I had not known. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, and we will all be here one day.

The next day I went again to look at the cremation site. The monks had been there already and everything was gone. The wood, the fire, the ashes, the lights. Nothing but a clearing and an open spot of earth under a hot blue sky.

On the door to my room someone has written the words “The Buddha’s path leads beyond the delusive notions of self and death.” In his video about a shift in perception Adyashanti talks laughingly about dying with a person who is going through the process of her own awakening. That there is more to life and death than life and death seems to be a certainty. But, he says you can’t take anything with you into that something more, not even your self.

As I write this, the birds are singing – as they pretty much always are here – the sky is clouded but spots of bright sunshine appear from time to time. A fan is blowing hot air across my hotter body and I have been staying by myself for most of the morning. I notice that I have fallen back into a habit of mine of writing from an almost sorrowful place, like the writing is a photograph all in sepia. That’s a symptom of falling into the past and holding to it I think, as if it was better somehow than the present. Hmm…

So – after all this rambling about, I will leave you with the dreamed question that started all of this.

Why are you here?

Belief, Enlightenment and Being Normal

So the days have been passing slowly and quickly, at the same time, which seems at first glance to be an impossibility but is really quite ordinary, not to mention possible. It seems that many things are that way.

Yesterday I had a chance to leave the temple for the first time in a while. We went to a cave that I haven’t been to before (which was a surprise because over the past 7 months it seems like I’ve been pretty much everywhere in this province of Loei). The cave was (and is) very large and very long with walls rounded and smoothed by eons of flowing water. Afterwards we had lunch on a raft floating on a small lake. I was elected captain of the raft and “got” to wheel us out into the lake by turning a homemade capstan attached to a rope tethered to both sides of the lake. It slipped and didn’t work terribly well, but we made slow progress and were able to enjoy a lunch cooled by the water breeze.

I’ve been working in the kitchen most mornings and afternoons. It is generally lots of repetitive small stuff – like cutting what seemed like a ton of ginger into tiny slivers yesterday, or rolling little balls of a tofu mixture that got deep-fried like falafel this morning, along with all kinds of other tasks like washing dishes or stirring the big woks, or hefting ice for the many large ice boxes that are used to keep things cold. It’s simple work, tedious and long and hot but it feels like good training right now – training in just sitting and doing and being at the same time.

I’ve been coming to some conclusions lately that have kind of snuck up on me. In the way of these things, they seem quite obvious and ordinary now, but would have felt unreal and extraordinary only a little while ago. The conclusions, at this point at least, are that “enlightenment” does exist, there are people alive in the world who are “in it” – quite a few actually – and it is attainable. It doesn’t depend on religion or belief, and while mystical experience can be a part of it, it doesn’t seem to be a necessary part. It’s also not something that can be arrived at, tried for or gotten through effort or intention. It is a state beyond “me”, and so anything “I” do is simply more “me”. Enlightenment is always beyond this idea of “me”.

The natural law, and truth, of the universe is that everything changes. What is believed or experienced today will be different tomorrow. We can hold desperately to what we believe and in our clinging become uncomfortable, stiff, rigid, and sick, or we can let go into the knowing that everything is always different. No belief is permanent, no mind state, no experience, no object, no body, no self…  It’s just the way it is.

Having spent some time now with someone who I believe is able to live this truth of change in an “enlightened” way I’ve had an opportunity to experience the edges of the sense of it, and to hear the words used in an attempt to describe it. Comparing that with other words from other people who have no connection whatsoever to this teacher or this place I am finding that there is a high rate of similarity between them.

Mooji has a lot of great quotes as well as many videos of his talks, and his way of describing the experience contains many similarities to what I hear here.  Adyashanti has a surprisingly fresh and “normalizing” way of talking about the same thing, and Sri Sri Ravi Shankar  also has similar things to say. Mooji’s teacher, Papaji, who was a student of Sri Ramana Maharshi has a very powerful energy about him, and he also says many of the same things. Papaji says that enlightenment is easy, but letting go enough to be still and allow it to happen is more difficult. Enlightenment already always is, but we are conditioned to believe that we are not in it. He also says that God is everywhere, but not visible as long as there is a “me” trying to see it. There are so many words, so many teachers and so many ways of using the conditioning of the past, the beliefs from which one comes, to try to describe what does not depend on beliefs or on conditions. But there is really nothing new to say about it.

I always appreciate people’s thoughts and comments about the blogs, even if I sometimes don’t get them answered. (Sorry about that – I think I’ve gotten most of them answered though…) It’s so interesting to see how the same words are seen differently by different people, and to read the reflections that people send back to me. It helps me to see more meaning in what I’ve written often. I asked Vicky if I could share what she sent last time, and she didn’t object so here is an excerpt, written in response to the giggling, bell clanging, wonderful ladies at the mountain shrine that I wrote about in my last post:

“…I will also use it as a reminder that, despite everything we humans do on this planet, the silence, the peace, the beauty, the life force energy, lives on as a vibrant undercurrent, undisturbed by our bell clanging, giggling, crashing and smashing.  If we simply move to a space beyond the noise we are then held in the place where everything is 'being' not 'doing'.  

Everything external flows by.  We become a part of 'the All".  I guess the trials, challenges and turmoils are like passing thunder storms.  Some rush past quickly, some just touch us on the fringes, some shake the very earth beneath our feet, dropping us to our knees in a reaction of primal memory.  But they pass us by.  Sometimes they cause great damage and destruction, burning huge areas or toppling a single giant of a tree.  But always there is renewal.  That never ends.  Our Mother will always renew herself and if we trust and allow, she provides space and energy for our own renewal as well.  

It is truly incredible what I am feeling right now.  It is as though the wind blowing outside is part of me, the new spring that is on the horizon is renewal within me as well.  And the underlying peace and silence is me..  I feel such gratitude for everything in this moment.  Life is the winds and storms and thunder and lightening swirling all around us.  It is the giggling, the bird chatter, the parties and struggles, and magic and everything we fill our days with.  But still I am the silence that lies beneath.”

So, that’s it… beyond the perception of this individual self, we are That…   J

Old Ladies laughing and Buddha Bells gonging

The day after my last blog post I was riding my bike home after working in the kitchen and happened into a monk who is a friend here. He happened to be going up Phu Kradueng (a local mountain and national park) the next day and invited me to come along. Yay! So about five the next morning we were on our way up to the mountain.

The climb up was fairly uneventful and a bit faster than the Christmas time trip. At this time of year there are almost no people and most of the stopping places along the way were closed down. When we went at Christmas there were people everywhere, shops and food places and things to buy every 500 m or so. Now there were just empty stalls. The tent city at the top of the mountain was also gone, with just a few tents huddled under a small copse of trees, and others placed under shed roofs here and there.

I won’t relate the whole trip, but there are a couple of images that I wanted to remember – and share with you – before they fade away into that place where images and memories go when they lose their clarity and change from experiences lived into stories remembered…

Shortly after our arrival I wandered away from the small conference building in which the seven of us had set up our bedrolls to search for something sweet to eat. Even on the top of the mountain most of the stalls were closed down and there wasn’t much to find. I did, however, locate some coffee candies and an elderly shop keeper who proudly pointed out her variety of dried vegetarian texturized vegetable protein that she could give me instead of meat if I wanted. (All without communicated without being able to speak a common language!) I offered her some candy instead, a few other people happened along, and I ended up being invited along on a walk with them. So, off we went.

It ended up, after about a km or so of walking, that we were going to a Buddha statue situated on the edge of a small clearing of flat limestone, littered with puddles from the recent rain.

Switching to the present tense here, to give the feel of the moment - the statue sits on a raised dais above a small tiled area on which people can sit or kneel to pay their respects. A railing pipe on either side of the raised tile floor holds many small bells, and two larger ones; a few still larger bells hang from supports a short distance from the tiled area. A large metal bowl full of sand situated above the tiled floor and below the Buddha holds incense sticks and candles, and there are vases of wild flowers beside the bowl. Smoke wafts from the incense, brushing past my nose like wisps of time, birds chirp and cry from the forest all around and the ever present buzz of jungle insects hums beneath the sound of the whispering breeze. Silence and stillness hovers beneath the jungle noises, beneath the bird calls and the insect noises, beneath the sounds of our presence. Like water in the ocean depths, it is still despite all that is happening above it.

The four elderly women with whom I arrived kneel before the Buddha and add their incense sticks. One hands me some incense to light and add to the bowl and another gives me flowers to add to a vase. Still another opens what looks like a school exercise notebook to pages filled with neat Thai lettering. We recite the opening ritual together and then they begin to chant, partly from memory and partly from the book. It goes on for quite a while. Every now and then they forget the words or the wind blows the pages around and they stop, giggling, to look for the next part of the prayer. It is reverent and simple and OK to make mistakes here.

They finish the chanting and praying finally and I need to meet the monks to go and watch the sunset from one of the cliffs. As I leave the women start banging on the Buddha bells. They are still at it several minutes later as I walk with the monks, and I hear the sound of the bells receding into the distance. They are all still there - a statue, a jungle, and from time to time four elderly women, incense, laughter and the gonging of bells…

The other image I would like to share is of the “cave” that Luang por (the teacher here) stayed in for a year. I put “cave” in quotation marks because it is really just an sheltered place under an overhang of rock, but it has a richness and presence despite its lack of concavity.

The cave is located in a sheltered curve of stone cliff where the table top of the mountain drops about twenty feet before continuing on in rolling undulations of grass, bushes and small trees. The overhang is about 15 feet wide and is sheltered on all sides by plants – moss and creepers and one great tree that stands like a guardian in front. Water drips and flows in droplets down the small hanging roots in front of the overhang and green dappled forest stretches down and away. Inside there is enough room to sit without being wet, a small place for a fire, a shetered area to sleep, a small basin in the stone that catches dripping rain water. Someone has placed some Buddha statues inside now, made of dark metal that blends with the stone. I sat for a while, listening to the dripping water and the silence…

There were other things too of course – The rain has come back and we were treated to daily thunder showers. We spent an afternoon on a 19 Km circuit of forest and cliffs (all walked barefoot - Lisa B you would have liked that). One of the storms drenched us completely, flashed and thundered and worked itself into a frenzy, then wandered off to drench other people and leave us with puddles, cooler air, and a river of cloud flowing mystically through a valley below us.

There was also a full moon, strange frogs croaking “oooom   ahhhh” to each other in the night, and a large burned area where a fire blackened, scorched, burned and transformed the forest. The blackness will not last long though. Already the hopeful and even forceful presence of green is evident everywhere; life is rising again from the ashes.

Morning and Tofu

OK, so it’s cooler this morning and I’m feeling a little bit more positive. Even with all of the heat and humidity and not so comfortable living situation I have to admit that there are still a lot of good things about being here. I was up early to help in the kitchen again – chopping tomatoes, pulling up onions, carrying stuff around. Dawn trickled in gradually through the clouds, birds sang, people noises drifted in from the distance. The people are easy to be around and there is a calm feeling in the kitchen (which is not really a “kitchen”. It’s just some tables on a cement floor covered by portable canvas tent roofs, some big propane burners, a small sink and a hose). Like most things here, it is mainly outside, very simple, but functional.

Cycling home I was greeted by several smiling people on the road. There is a stretch of sparsely treed forest a few hundred meters long through which the road to my house runs. The forest is home to a group of monks who live in little open bamboo huts among the trees. They have taken to yelling out “hello” or “A-hosee” and waving to me as I go by. They have a way of looking so content and happy with life, just hanging out by their little huts. I wonder why I am not so good at being content. Why do I get bored so easily and want things to do or to happen?

That is why I am still here perhaps – wondering about contentment. I’m not sure if it is our culture at home, or more just the way I’ve come to be, but I find myself feeling that if there is something that I don’t like or don’t agree with, then I need to be unhappy about it. If I’m not upset by it, then where will the motivation to change it come from? If I’m just happy and content about everything, then what wrongs will be righted and what problems will be solved? There seems to be a need to be upset or unhappy or angry in order to ensure that something gets done. I’ve noticed this in relationships too – people need to be unhappy and angry to show a spouse or boss or co-worker that they don’t like what has happened. How are we going to change other people if we’re just happy and contented all the time? ...and if there isn't something wrong, then there's still a sense of boredom if nothing new happens. Hmm - 8:00 AM and nothing's happening. 10:00 AM and nothing is continuing to happen...   la de da, what am I going to DO?  :-)

Of course, the teaching here is that it is precisely by letting go of the desire to change anything that releases things, and people, to change on their own. By being content with whatever is, by surrendering to conditions as they are, it gives greater access to the present moment and in this present moment everything is always changing. Contrary to what seems to be common sense, more can be accomplished by relaxing and releasing than by fighting and straining. Mooji says “Go to the place where nothing has happened”. I can’t say I’ve experienced that place yet, but I’m beginning to have a sense of what he is talking about. Beyond this idea of mind and matter – perhaps you could say in the realm of quantum probability that is now thought by scientists to be the basis of our universe – there is a nothingness from which everything springs. As Sri Sri Ravi Shankar says:

“Quantum physics says "Everything is Nothing". Spiritual knowledge says "Nothing is Everything" and meditation is an appointment with nothing. If you hold onto everything, then you get nothing. If you are well-versed with nothing, then you get everything!”

I also like this quote by Ravi Shankar, and it’s slightly related so I’ll include it here:

Q: Guruji, what do you think is the greatest fortune in human life?
Sri Sri: The greatest fortune in human life is to be able to say, "I want nothing. I'm here for you."

Since I seem to be into quotes and things today, this transcript of a talk by Mooji talks more about the idea of nothingness and what is beyond our idea of thoughts and self: Dive Deep

But that’s the theory. It’s going to be hot again today and so I’ll see how good at surrendering to the heat and discomfort, not paying attention to my thoughts, and being content I am then. J

It’s tofu making day today so I’ll head back to the kitchen in a bit. It’s kind of fun actually. We make about 150 cakes of tofu from 30kg of dry yellow soy beans. It’s actually a fairly simple process, but takes all day due to the various steps and waiting time in between.

So, just thought I’d send a slightly more positive viewpoint than the one from last night…

Heat, humidity, and quite a small amount of humour

It’s 7:30 PM as I sit down to write this. I’m sitting in my room, wearing as little as possible and feeling hot, sticky, and damp all over. The hot dryness of the last month or so has become, over the last couple of days, very hot dampness instead. The rain, I must say, is wonderful and it is quickly bringing bits of green back into the grass and forest, but it has also increased the humidity to a somewhat miserable level.

Though I have been highly disliking the hotness of things, it has been a rather good opportunity to look at the way that I tend to get in a bad mood about being uncomfortable, and to watch my mind when it’s dealing with discomfort. When I can manage to get out of being so serious about it, it is actually quite funny. A typical day lately has looked like the following:

Get up at about 3:40 AM, grumbling to myself about the heat and stickiness and feeling stiff. Do a little bit of yoga to limber up and then get out the door by 4:00 to head for the kitchen. Meet with other kitchen volunteers, most of whom have been there since 3:00, but who appear to be much more energetic than I feel, and help with the last of the chopping or preparing of vegetables and things. Then I get to use a big shovel-like stirring ladle to stir whatever is being fried in one of the big four foot woks. After the cooking is done I load the food into trays and get it ready to transport to the serving tables. I also help to carry the heavy stuff and do some cleanup. By 5:00 or 5:30 this is all done and I go back home and sleep for another hour. Then it’s up to go to the gathering area for the morning discourse and breakfast.

The morning goes by with various activities from sleeping to laundry to helping with things like changing a bike tire, or weeding a flower bed or being a chauffeur for one of the monks. I usually have lunch at Maechee Ning’s house, as she always seems to have extra food. My stomach is unfortunately showing signs of being fed too much (or maybe getting older, or both) and seems to want to hang over my belt quite badly.

A couple of hours in the afternoon are spent at the kitchen again, chopping vegetables or doing a variety of prep work. One day each week we also make massive amounts of tofu – which is an all day job, but kind of interesting.

After the kitchen work there’s some free time where I generally go and wilt somewhere. One of the monks here at the house where I stay was into exercising for a while, so I was joining him in chin-ups and pushups sometimes. I find it really difficult to work up the incentive though. It’s like doing hot yoga, or exercising in a sauna…

So through all of this I find myself being outwardly fairly “up” but inwardly carrying an attitude of sludging through the moments – suffer it out, get through it, bear up and keep going… those sorts of feelings. They’re not very pleasant or very helpful, but they are there. It’s the moments when I recognize how much I’m struggling with things that it all becomes a bit more humorous. “OK self” I say, “here we are and what are we going to do about it?”

“Grumble, grumble” self replies. “I want to go home” he wines. “I want an air conditioner, and cool air and a house that actually modifies the environment so I’m not so affected by all this weather. Get me out of here!"

"No. I say. We can't go yet. I'm not sure why, but we still need to be here."

"You're a jerk and hard-ass", self says back.

"You're a miserable winer" I tell self.

"So what are you going to do then?" self says.

“Nothing, I say. There’s nothing I can do about it. It’s hot, it's humid, it's weather. I can't change it."  

“Well, then fine” self replies. “Then I'm not going to do anything about it either. So There!”

Then we smile at each other, self and I, and discover that we don’t have to fight about it all. We’re the same person, after all. It’s hot. At some point it won’t be hot. Time passes. I’m grumpy. It’s OK…

Yesterday evening I was invited by one of the monks to go to a place about a half hour drive from here to see a man who is considered by many to be a guru and teacher. It’s a beautiful place, surrounded on three sides by mountains and on the fourth side by fields of banana, papaya, tapioca and other crops. The guru’s house is a fairly typical Thai house – up on stilts about six feet from the ground, thin walls one board thick, kind of old looking and messy around the area. We sat on quite uncomfortable old wooden benches in the dirt by an even older rough board table. Chickens hopped and fluttered nearby, or flapped onto the roof to make scrabbling sounds on the tin over our head. A couple of dirty puppies nibbled at my toes and begged for food. Night fell softly and warmly about us, crickets chirped in the woods and the stillness of the mountains reached out gently from the darkness. The monks and the guru talked about many things that I didn’t understand because it was in Thai. He told me I ought to be a monk, it would be helpful for me because it is a kind of shield, and it helps with the discipline needed for a spiritual life. I nodded and inwardly continued not wanting to be a monk. The conversation continued and I found myself with a feeling of forgiveness and love wafting strangely through me. Kind of a nice reprieve from the grumps and dour sludging I’d been in.

On the way home, rain pelted down and thunder and lightning blazed and roared around us. The rain pattered, poured or hammered alternately through the night, and the morning awoke sultry and damp.

Now it is 8:00 PM. I am skipping the evening “Prayer of forgiveness” or “kokkamagam” that the monks of the house do each evening. In it they ask for forgiveness for all that they have done in this life or any other that has caused harm or pain to any other being and forgiveness for all that they have done in this life or any other to prevent any being from seeing, hearing, or understanding the dhamma – the laws and workings of the natural law of impermanence. They also ask for forgiveness for any vows, promises, or intentions they have made at any time and for desires projected into the future. Finally, they offer the good things they have done and will do to all beings with the idea that as each of us learns to shine, to give, to extend what we have to others then we create an upward spiral where everyone can benefit. There is more to it than this – it goes on for ten minutes or more sometimes, but that’s the Coles notes version.

The sentiments are kind of nice really. But I’m feeling antisocial, hot, sticky, lazy and grumpy still and I didn’t want to go. So, that’s OK too.  J

Songkran

April 13 is the official beginning of the Songkran holiday here in Thailand, and it officially continues until the 16^th I believe. It unofficially began a few days ago though, and continues until the 21^st or so I think – it’s the longest and biggest holiday of the year here. I’m still not sure that I understand what it is all about, but it is definitely needed as this is the hottest and driest month of the year and it tends to make people feel a bit short of temper, or at least of patience, and fed up with things. Thai people don’t seem to get short of temper very much or very quickly – at least not the ones I’ve seen, but the heat does stretch people’s patience.

Having spoken to my parents this morning and heard that there was another blizzard going on I realize that not many of you will be sympathetic to my complaints about heat, but I’m going to complain anyway. It’s bloody hot and it just goes on and on and on. It’s worse in Bangkok I guess, as at least it cools down to the mid twenties by around 11:00 PM here and doesn’t get uncomfortably hot again until around 8:00 AM. However, the inside of the houses (and my room) tends to hold the heat longer and so the actual comfortable time range for sleeping is rather short. Sigh…  It’d be OK with air conditioning I guess, but of course that’s not an option here at the temple.

I’m mostly glad that I stayed longer though, despite the heat issues. It does still feel like being here is a practice in living simply and in clearing out things that have been problems or blockages in the past. I’ve started helping out at the vegetarian kitchen lately. There are two kitchens that cook for the whole temple every day. The vegetarian kitchen is smaller and makes less food than the other one, but we still put out quite a bit each day. It’s been kind of fun really – between 6 and 12 people get together in the early morning (around 3:30 or 4:00) and work until about 5:00 or 5:30 and then again in the afternoon and work from around 2:00 to 4:30 or 5:00. They are a fun group and the last couple of days have ended with big water fights since that’s what one does for Songkran – throw water at people. I think the holiday is meant to be a time of respect for water and gratitude for water actually, but it is celebrated by throwing water at each other. There are kids along all of the streets throwing water at passing cars and motorcycles, trucks with barrels of water in the back and people throwing water as they drive along, and water fights all over the place. It’s so hot that the water feels kind of good actually, but you have to wrap up your phone and wallet in plastic…

Anyway, at the kitchen today there was a man who spoke English, so there was a chance to talk a little bit more than normal. People wanted to know what it is like in Canada – are there many temples there, or many Buddhists? Do I talk to my friends about what is taught here at this temple? What do they think about it?

I found myself having difficulty explaining – partly because of the language (even with a translator) and partly because things are so different. Here, about 98% of the population is Buddhist. If you throw a stick in pretty much any direction you’re going to hit a temple, and it’s just normal that religion is an integral part of life. Nearly every house has a “Buddha room” – a room dedicated to Buddha statues and pictures and meant for meditation and/or worship. Monks are everywhere and giving food to them is a part of life for everyone (except in the big cities). The only pictures one finds on walls anywhere in the house are generally Buddha images, monks, or the Royal Family. Everybody has at least one temple that they go to regularly, and several that they visit and support. In Canada, Sunday is the day to go to Church, mainly at least. Here it is called "Buddha day" and it falls on different days of the week each week. People go to temples especially on Buddha day but on many other days as well. Religion just isn’t that big a part of life in Canada, even for most people who are “religious”, but it is a big part of life here.

The interesting thing about Buddhism though is that it depends on who you talk to as to whether it is even a religion. I think to most people it is a religion, and Buddha is worshiped as a kind of deity. However, it isn't a religion that believes in a "father God" as in Christianity, or in many Gods as in Hinduism. It doesn't even believe in the idea of a permanent "self" of "soul" - but it does believe in reincarnation, at least in some ways. It is a religion, or philosophy, that says "not this, but not that either", and at the same time "Both this and that".

It doesn't lend itself well to be explained from the context in which our Western minds were brought up.

I tried to explain that there are lots of Christian people in Canada, and many churches, but not many temples. There are also lots of people who don’t have a specific religion, who are “spiritual” but not “religious” – but this wasn’t understood very well. “What do they trust in?” – well, they trust in their idea of connection with God from inside themselves, and their own connection with the divine…   but again it was hard to explain.

What do I tell my friends about the temple? Hmm. Well, again it is all about context and it’s so hard to just put it into words. Thich Nhat Hanh was in Bangkok last week and I actually intended to go, but then changed my mind due to Songkran travel difficulties. A friend went though and said the talk was mainly about living peacefully, compassion, love, and stuff like that. It’s a bit easier to talk about that and explain it.

The temple teaching is about that too; they definitely teach to live peacefully and simply, be compassionate and kind and generous. But they also try to go beyond the idea of opposites and that gets confusing. It’s more helpful to be kind than to be mean, but it’s not “wrong” to be either. It’s more helpful to be compassionate or generous than hurtful or selfish, but again it’s not “bad” to be selfish. Where most teachers say it is necessary to practice and have goals of where you are going and what you are trying to obtain, here they say that there is a point where these things are not helpful. Like the Queen of hearts in Alice in Wonderland, it can often happen that the faster we try to run to get somewhere, the slower we actually go in getting there. The harder we try to be “OK” the more we find that’s not OK about ourselves. Or… the more we focus on “good” the more judgmental we get about “bad”. It’s kind of a tricky balance, and it doesn’t lend itself to explaining very well.

But, we had a water fight anyway, and got very wet and even a bit cold (especially when ice was included in the water), and nobody took anything too seriously. I guess that’s one of the good things about here. People live their lives day by day and moment by moment and as much as possible they don’t take things (especially themselves) too seriously. It’s helpful to be constantly reminded not to be too serious about one’s self.

At the moment all of the young boys who live at the house where I stay are yelling in the background and throwing water at each other. A light breeze is blowing and bringing a slight bit of coolness with it. The evening dhamma talk will start in about 45 minutes and we’ll all go to listen to Luang por and to feel the energy of his presence. This too is hard to describe. It is kind of like a cool breeze for the mind I guess – a breeze that tends to calm the thoughts and nerves and help one to feel more still or open. It’s an expanding sort of energy, when one can be open enough to let it in.

So, that’s it for the moment. I’m here for another 45 days (not that I’m counting or anything). Each day feels precious in many ways, and I am also feeling anxious to come home. There’s the mind, not being content where it is and grasping for the future again. Oh well…  this is another of the confusing paradoxes. Everything is OK and nothing needs to be fixed or changed in this moment, but everything is also constantly changing by itself. It’s OK to grasp for the future, and this is also changing…